Thunderstorm
by OOHiMBLiND
Summary: When a romance sparks up between Harry and Hermione, will their friends desert them, or will they aid them in the suspicious events occuring at school? Harry must learn Occlumency, and it proves to be very beneficial. HHr
1. Chapter 1

Thunder raged above the rooftops of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where hundreds of children resided. Loud rumbles sent ripples of shock across the sturdy structure of the massive castle and though there was no doubt in any student's mind that the walls and ceilings could stand against the most gruesome of nature's deeds—they were able to do magic, after all—the eerie sound of angry clouds did not settle well while attempting to fall asleep. There had been plenty of thunderstorms at Hogwarts, each with their own mass of chaos and destruction, but none had ever been quite like this one.

While the students at Hogwarts—who were divided amongst themselves in accepting, or not accepting, the return of Lord Voldemort—ha been through their fair share of scary confrontations over the past four years. But it was their duty as maturing witches and wizards to learn and understand the basic complexities of spells and hexes, the ultimate point of which to use at their defense against the reemerging dark arts.

The question in everyone's mind, lingering uneasily late into the night, which each student was too ashamed to readily admit, was why each of them were frightened of this thunderstorm. Of course, the wind was blowing so fiercely that the walls even seems to shiver at the brisk wind, and outside the trees were bowing to the much more powerful gusts that could weave itself between their branches. The rain was pouring so hard there could have been five hundred drums beating arrhythmically in the courtyard down from his window.

But, in the end, it was still a thunderstorm.

Rain meant change; and since no one could predict change, the feeling was full of an uncertain anticipation. It as the aspect of a wizard's life in which he or she had to admit that they could use neither magic nor foresight to solve the upcoming events.

Least of the students to be scared should have been Harry Potter, currently regarded as the infamously notorious, trouble-causing celebrity that every student, teacher, and faculty inside Hogwarts either hated or adored. Having now battled the dark lord himself three times in four years, Harry had caught more than a glimpse, more than a taste of the dark arts and he could attest that standing in the presence of Lord Voldemort wasn't even comparable to the thunderstorm currently conducting itself outside the confinements of his Gryffindor dormitory.

Harry glanced towards his best friend Ron Weasley's bed, forgetting that his own hangings enclosed him in privacy, as he was sure Ron's were. Ron was such a heavy sleeper Harry was sure that when Ron practically passed out the moment he hit his pillow, he hadn't woken up once since. Neither a scream nor a howl would wake him.

At the moment, Harry half wished he had his invisibility cloak so he could sneak over to Ron's bed, making up a dumb excuse to see if Ron was having the same reaction he was to the perturbed weather. But he sighed, remembering all too well his other best friend, Hermione Granger, asked to borrow it for the night, something about not getting the permission form she needed to borrow a book from the restricted section of the library.

Thinking it over, Harry knew that not only would it be hard to make up an excuse to see Ron, because for once since the term had begun neither had homework over the weekend. If the other boys in the room saw his curtain move, and then Ron's, there would be some rumors floating around the entire school before breakfast. _Harry Potter can face you-know-who but not a thunderstorm? What a scaredy-cat! _

A bright, wall-shaking burst of lightning jolted Harry from these thoughts. As much as he desired going over to Ron's bed, he resisted, telling himself that it was just a thunderstorm and there was no way a lightning bolt could strike him as long as he stayed indoors. He couldn't imagine wanting to venture out in this weather anyway.

No sooner had he thought this than the curtain to his own bed opened and he jumped nearly two inches up from his mattress. He looked carefully, the curtain was opened slightly, but no one was there.

"Who's there?" Harry whispered, drawing his sheets up to his chin as though they were protection from whatever evil might be lingering in the darkness. A tuff of brown curly hair revealed itself in midair, and seconds later Hermione slipped his invisibility cloak from her head, revealing only her head, and a panicked look strewn warily across her face.

Harry caught his breath, swallowing the enormous lump that had formed in his throat, and before saying anything, took several seconds to regain the couple moments he had lost.

In deep couplets of breath, he finally managed to speak. "What is it?" he asked, very concerned by the look on her face, not to mention the fact that he was standing _at_ his bed _in_ his dormitory.

Still looking panicked, she kept her body hidden, and her voice low. "Oh Harry! Please don't be upset!" She glanced to her left, at the stirring of Dean Thomas. "I…I…" she stumbled across her words, looking for a way not to sound incredibly foolish in what she was trying to say.

But Harry didn't need to hear it; he knew what she was talking about. She was scared. Through all the brains and wisdom buried under her mass of brown, curly hair, which had been slowly taming itself over the years, Hermione still feared some things that came as a great surprise to Harry.

Instinctively, he reached out for her and pulled her onto his bed, refastening the drapes where she had been standing. She took off the invisibility cloak and wrapped her arms around Harry, gently letting out spurts of muffled sobs, nothing louder than a low murmur. He could feel wet spots beginning to form on the shoulder of his pinstriped pajamas. She was much better at stifling her tears than Cho, who didn't seem to care where or when she cried, what she cried about, or even that she seemed to be doing it constantly. But Harry knew Hermione, and she didn't let her colors show this vividly unless something was really bothering her. At least he knew why she was crying.

After a moment of sitting with her, softly rubbing her back, he felt himself pulling her down to a horizontal position next to him, helping her under his covers, still in the warm embrace he had been greeted with. After what seemed like ten minutes, her sobs had turned to sniffles, and then to deep breaths.

"Feeling any better?" Harry asked. His eyes were wide with worry, yet soft with a compassion that surprised him. Here he was, breaking about four rules—which of course he was well accustomed to doing—of which Hermione was in _his_ bed, wrapped in _his_ arms, under _his _covers. It was a strange and comforting feeling, and he was dying to know what Hermione was thinking.

She nodded into his shoulder, not yet coming up with words. They laid there for several minutes before Hermione tilted her head back to look at him. They locked eyes and, over the next couple moments, found themselves becoming lazily lost in a gaze they had not shared before. Harry had never noticed the depth of her brown eyes, the meaning behind them, or their perfect shape on her face as though they completed a mark of who she was. The freckles she still had from her summer holiday emphasized her eyes, pushing the color in her face collectively into an emission from her eyes.

Hermione smiled when she read the perplexed look on his face, and in a way, he could tell she was thinking the same thing.

Not knowing where the urge came from, he slowly lowered his head, closing his eyes, realizing that as he was doing so Hermione was doing the same. Just hours ago, he was doing the same thing with Cho, except he had no idea what she was about to do and had no control over the situation. It had been awkward, wet, and overall, unmemorable. But when his lips connected with Hermione's, a surge of energy pulsated through him, giving him a natural confidence and a knowledge of all things uncertain he had not felt with Cho.

It was a while before they realized that they were still kissing, getting lost into the definition of each other's lips, exploring each other's mouths. Harry had let one of his hands slip down to her waist, where he had pulled her in more tightly, as his other hand stayed draped around her neck, still embracing her in a hug. Mutually, they pulled away, once again catching the gaze they had become entranced in before.

Sheepishly, Hermione smiled coyly, lowering her head so that her forehead was resting against Harry's chest. She seemed to fit so perfectly into his arms.

"Believe it or not," Hermione whispered, looking back into Harry's eyes, "I didn't come here for this." Harry gave her a quizzical look. "No, I mean, I was scared of the thunderstorm…" she said, quickly rephrasing her comment, "not what…just happened." She sighed, realizing she had barely said two words since she had gotten there, and who knew how long it had been.

A strike of lightning made them both jerk out of their star-struck stupor and Hermione did her best to hide herself in Harry's shirt, muffling a cry that she so desperately wanted to let out. Harry brought her in closer, if that was possible. He felt the nice curves of her body pressed against his, adoring the feeling of holding her in his arms. It was strangely comfortable and natural, both of which he never would have expected.

After a couple moments of silence from the threatening outdoors, Hermione retreated from Harry's chest, back up to her spot on his arm. Suddenly, a look of concern crossed over her face.

"What is it?" Harry asked worriedly, wondering if he was crushing her, or hurting her in some way.

A silent gasp emitted from her lips. "Harry…what about Cho?"

For a moment, bewilderment crossed over his face and asked, "Who…?" Then, dumbly, he restated, "Oh, Cho, yes. Well…pity bringing her up at a time like this." Hermione gave him an awestruck smile, looking as if she had just passed all her OWLs with flying colors. She reached up and gave him a kiss, reaffirming that she had appreciated what he had just said, though he didn't quite known what he'd done.

He turned himself so he was more on his back than his side, his arm still around her neck, and allowed Hermione to scoot into the bridge of his shoulder and side, a perfect sized compartment for her head. They laid there for a while, both mesmerized by what had just taken place. Neither could find much to complain about.

Dangerously, they began to ignore the pitter-patter and rumble of the noise outside, and found themselves drifting to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Harry awoke to the sound of the other boys in the dorm going about their morning routines. The groggy sound of Dean Thomas' grunts had jarred him from his sleep, and he froze, feeling his arm pinned down to the bed.

Slowly, he turned his head to see Hermione nuzzled adorably into the crook of his arm. A broad smile swept over his face as he recalled the exhilarating events of the night. _It wasn't a dream! I really did make out with her!_ His thoughts ignited an enormous excitement inside his chest, but he wasn't quite sure how he felt. It was, of course, an exhilarating experience, but Hermione had said it herself: what about Cho? He had liked her for ages, but Hermione was one of his best friends; what could be better than falling for someone he knew so well?

What was more, he didn't know how Hermione felt and was nearly terrified to find out. At the same time, a strange knot tightened in the pit of his stomach. A nervous, scared knot that he tried to ignore and pass off as the morning bug.

"Harry?" a loud voice called from outside his bed. "Harry, are you awake?" It was Ron. He was standing directly next to his curtains.

Frantically, Harry sat up and glanced around for the invisibility cloak, thinking it was his only option to hide Hermione. How the heck would he explain this to Ron if he had just flung open Harry's hangings? Hermione in his bed? He found the cloak at the foot of his bed and snatched it up. Carefully, he peeled the covers off the top half of Hermione's body, revealing her cute frame. Her shirt had been dragged up during the night, revealing a portion of her stomach and torso; Harry's eyes loitered on her bare skin before he covered her with the cloak. Then, carefully slipping his arm from under her head, he brought the covers back up to look rather normal. There was still an indent in the pillow and a lump in the covers where there obviously shouldn't be, but it was the best he could do.

"Yeah, hang on a sec," Harry said, trying to sound as though he had just woken up.

"Well, hurry! Hermione is expecting us to meet her for breakfast before we go to Hogsmead. That thunderstorm is still going, though. I reckon Dumbledore will want to reschedule…" Ron's voice faded out, and Harry figured he had walked away from his bedside.

Harry looked back down at the invisible Hermione, racking his brain with ideas to get her out of his room without every boy in the room noticing. They were lucky she had thought to use the invisibility cloak to visit him during the night. Softly, he reached to where her head would be and lifted up the cloak to reveal her face, a little smirk looking back up at him. He smiled back, but the knot that had wrenched itself in the pit of his stomach tightened further. It was better than he thought to see her smile at him—he suspected Ron had woken her too with his question—and he was surprised to find that not only was he okay with her being there, but she was too.

He reached for his glasses and was pleased to see her face more clearly, they then wordlessly, they exchanged several thoughts by using a series of pointed glances and eyebrow raises, and it seemed as though they were on the same page. then casually slipped out of his bed. Most of the boys had already left, only Neville Longbottom and Ron were left. He glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was much later than the outdoors let on. Rain continued to pour down on the castle, refusing to let any sun shine through, but the thunder and lightning appeared to have quit.

He stretched his arms up high, just now realizing a crick in his neck and arm. It was a good crick, and smiled at its tension. He looked around and noticed both Neville and Ron staring at him. The smile faded, and he looked rather confused.

"What are you smiling at?" Ron asked, surprised and slightly taken aback. He couldn't exactly give evidence for anything Harry could possibly be happy about at the moment; he hadn't been in the greatest mood lately.

"Nothing!" Harry said, a little too quickly, causing him to smile again. But he quickly wiped it away.

"Did you have a good dream?" Neville asked, a toothy grin proceeding from the small pit of his mouth.

"I suppose you could say that," Harry shrugged. This time, he was able to contain the smirk that so desperately wanted to escape from his lips.

Ron didn't seem to find his answer very suitable and a sly grin crept up to the corners of his mouth. "Did you dream about Cho?"

Harry rolled his eyes, then thought for a moment. Should he let Ron think he had, so it was easier to disguise Hermione's presence. But, on the other hand, he didn't want to lead any three of them on, so he just simply shrugged. "None of your business," he said mysteriously, turning to his trunk.

Ron scoffed, "Fine, be that way." He sighed, "Well go on then. Get ready, you are so slow this morning, what is up with you?" Without waiting for a reply, he followed Neville towards the door. "I'll be waiting in the common room with Hermione, unless she's already eating breakfast because honestly you are a lump of molasses."

The moment the boys left, Harry rushed to the door and glanced out the peep hole, to make sure they were actually walking away, which they were. Then he paused, and turned around, and was quite aware that although he could not see Hermione, he was certain she was looking at him.

"Nice dream, hmm?" Hermione said, opening the hangings the rest of the way and uncovering her head. She was sitting on his bed, her head hovering a few feet above the mattress.

He gave her a sheepish smile and walked back over to her. "You'd better get back over to the girls dormitories," Harry said pointedly, "Ron is going to have a fit if we're both acting suspicious.

Her face dropped. "Ron…" and instantly they both knew they were thinking the same thing. It might have been one thing to insist to him that Hermione was scared—explaining her business in the boys' dormitory—but how would he react to knowing what actually took place last night.

"I know," Harry said, avoiding her gaze.



Breakfast was rather quiet between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as neither Harry nor Hermione knew what to say. Ron, on the other hand, was quite oblivious as he piled eggs, bacon, and toast high on his plate, wasting no time in getting into the magnificent breakfast feast. As Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye, he believed that any of the odd behavior going on between he and Hermione was slipping past him. Otherwise he was choosing to ignore it or too tired to do anything about it.

Chaos raged as usual in the great hall. It was the last day of the weekend and everyone was excited to have one last day of freedom or take the planned trip into Hogsmead. All around, each student had their own heroic, scoffing tale of how they survived the dreadful night.

From the Slytherin table the Gryffindors could hear in clear, boasting tones that Draco Malfoy wasn't frightened in the least and was forced to calm down two first year boys who came running into his room. Apparently it was an enchanting story that put them right to sleep.

Ron sighed, as he heard bits and pieces of Draco's tale drift over to their spot at the Gryffindor table. "When is someone going to put that sorry excuse for a wizard out of his misery?" Ron asked glumly. No students besides those from Slytherin much enjoyed Draco's company.

Hermione nodded in agreement, "Half the time he makes fun of whoever is the slightest bit frightened at something, but throws a fit himself. Why can't anyone else besides us see that?"

Ron smiled broadly, "We must be the chosen ones, sent to deliver the world of wizards from the hazard of the Malfoy family." Harry and Hermione laughed. "What?" Ron protested. "Harry has been chosen, why can't we?"

"It's not that," Hermione said, "I just mean—"

"What do you mean, I've been chosen?" Harry asked Ron, slightly taken aback at his comment.

Now Ron rolled his eyes, "Okay, well, I've been thinking about this." He briefly glanced at Harry, to ensure he wouldn't start getting angry, then took another bite of toast. With a full mouth, he continued, "You've been famous since the moment you were born, there's got to have some meaning in that." Harry raised an eyebrow. Ron shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "Look," he said, "I know we don't talk about this much, or at all, but don't you wonder _why_ you-know-who wants you dead, or tried to kill you in the first place?" Harry remained silent, and his brow furrowed, obviously hinting that he had thought about it before. "I've thought about it a lot, and you can argue with me all you want, but I have this theory that the only reason you-know-who wants to kill you is because you're a threat to him. Otherwise, wouldn't he just leave you alone?"

Hermione's gaze drifted upwards, towards the enchanted ceiling, full of owls bringing letters and parcels to their recipients. "That's very well-thought out, Ron," she said, obviously thinking. "I've thought about it too, and if you don't mind me saying, I always thought along the same lines." They both looked at Harry, who was poking at his porridge.

Without looking up, Harry nodded. "That makes sense." He hesitated a moment, then glanced up, shifting his gaze between the two. "I guess…I guess I just never want to admit that someone much more powerful than me is out there with my murder at the top of his To-Do List. It doesn't exactly help me sleep at night."

Before either Ron or Hermione could respond, Professor Dumbledore's voice resounded throughout the grand hall. "May I have your attention, please? Attention." His voice was calm and soothing, as it usually was, and the sparkles in his eyes were as evident as always. "As I'm sure you've all gathered," he began, surveying the broad expanse of students, "we will have to postpone our visit to Hogsmead until next weekend due to the weather. These are no conditions for anyone to be walking around in, and it is not expected to let up anytime soon. Enjoy a day of relaxation and shortly after lunch you will be able to find a variety of snacks provided for you courtesy of the kitchen in your respective common rooms. Now, eat up!"

A mix of groans and approvals could be heard throughout the mass of students. All the third through seventh year students were disappointed that they could not go into Hogsmead, but all were pleased for the idea of extra snacks after lunch.

"Pity," Ron said with a sigh, "I was hoping to replenish my Bertie Botts. I'm all out." He shrugged, "Just as well, I'm probably going to be in the library all day finishing up that ridiculous essay Professor Snape assigned for tomorrow. Can you believe it? An entire essay on how to make a potion to cure a frog of its bloody blindness! Who's ever heard of a blind frog. I'm sure they would die within hours."

"Don't worry Ron, it isn't that hard," Hermione said. "Even Harry got it done." She looked up and smirked at Harry, her eyes sparkling.

Ron was shoving in the last of his eggs when Hermione said this, and didn't catch the exchange. "Hard or not," he said, eggs shooting like sparks from his mouth, "I have to spend at least two hours on research in order for Snape not to give me a D." He sighed and pushed his plate away from him. "I am going to the library so I can finish that stupid essay and I will catch up with you at lunch so we can spend the rest of the afternoon _not_ doing homework." Without another word, he sulked out of the hall and out of sight.

"He sounds like you," Harry said to Hermione, also pushing his bowl from in front of him. He didn't feel so hungry this morning, with so much going through his mind.

Hermione smiled, "Well someone's got to. I haven't felt like myself all morning." She sighed, "I've been wracking my brain to understand how everything happened last night…"

Harry hissed at her to stop, glancing around. "Are you sure we should really…tell anybody?" He asked, worried at the thought of being caught. "I mean, we broke several rules last night."

Her eyes widened. "I was wondering the same thing," she looked away awkwardly. "You don't feel strange, at all, do you?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Just a bit." He glanced in the direction Ron left. "Mostly because of Ron." She nodded, and looked at him again. "But it was…nothing...right? Just…a moment of weakness."

"Right," she said quickly, "I was scared and…that was how I needed to be comforted."

They looked at each other for another moment, then stood up simultaneously to leave.

"I've uh…got to…" Harry mumbled.

"And I've got to see…" Hermione said, at the same time as Harry. She stopped and let Harry speak.

"See you at lunch, then?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Lunch, with Ron, of course." She looked at him for another moment. "Bye, then, Harry." She smiled, turned, and walked towards the entrance. Harry glanced down at his porridge, noticing, only then, that Hermione had not touched her breakfast either. He looked back up at her, watching her leave.

His insides cringed. That was not at all what he intended to say to her, but she seemed to agree. At least verbally.

Sighing, he resolved to go back to the common room and lounge by the fireplace. The noisy chaos could sweep over him and relieve him of his thoughts, which was exactly what he needed.

He began walking towards the entrance of the great hall, a horrible thought gnawing at his mind. What if what happened with Hermione was not just a moment of weakness? What if it actually meant something else, something deeper? Had he just ruined his chance of finding out?

Upon reaching the entrance hall, and turning to take the shortcut back to Gryffindor tower, Harry heard small, quick footsteps resounding behind him. He turned to see a beaming Cho running up to him.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, a bit breathlessly, but smiling widely at him. "How…how are you this morning?"

At that moment, Harry felt a huge pang of guilt surge through his body. How could he have completely forgotten about this? They had kissed, only hours before he made out with Hermione. He tried to smile as he studied her face. She looked slightly flustered by his lack of response.

"I'm doing well," Harry said, offhandedly. "How are you?"

"Cho!" a voice, sounding put off and annoyed, called out from behind Cho. She turned to see her friend, Marietta, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm doing very well, Harry," Cho said, turning back to face him. "And I'm terribly sorry, but I promised Marietta I would help her with something. See you later?" She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then, with a small wave, ran to catch up with her friend.

To his surprise, the kiss made him entirely confused. There were no sharp daggers poking his skin, no excitement, he hadn't even felt like he wanted her to kiss him. It was strange, a very strange and uncertain feeling.

When he turned to continue on his way, he could have sworn he saw the back of a girl's robe sweep around the corner and out of sight, leaving only a diminishing shadow as she hurried away. Harry walked down the hall and stuffed his hands in his pockets, but just as soon had to take them out. There was something glinting on the ground, something golden.

He bent over and retrieved what appeared to be a very thin, golden chain lying on the floor. Carefully, he turned it around in his hand and saw that there was only a small plate of gold between the links of the chain, opposite the clasp. It had only three letters, what Harry figured were initials: HJG.


	3. Chapter 3

There wasn't much Harry could do that afternoon. He didn't have any homework, ironically, besides the dream diary that Professor Trewlaney assigned, but he didn't feel much like jotting down a bunch of made up dreams, especially when he had so much running through his mind.

He spent his morning in the common room, pretending to read out of his defense against the dark arts textbook, but his eyes only flittered across words, not really reading anything. His mind was elsewhere, way elsewhere. As hard as he tried, he could not keep his mind from running through his late night venture with Hermione, then later the short conversation they had after breakfast. He couldn't help thinking that he had made a mistake by not telling her how he really felt about their kiss, but after his confrontation with Cho made him even more confused.

Of course he couldn't go on with Cho knowing what happened with Hermione, and it would be completely unfair to try without telling her. But he couldn't tell Cho either; she'd probably start crying again.

But then, what about Hermione? His best friend? Was it best to just push it from his mind and pretend like it was nothing, or should he talk to her?

All of the thinking and deliberating was making his head hurt. He rubbed his temples, then his eyes, realizing then how tired he was. When he recovered from this, he was surprised to see Hermione walking up to him. She also had a copy of the defense against the dark arts textbook tucked under his arm. He was slouched on one of the wooden chairs along the backside of the common room, but when he saw Hermione he quickly sat up, the book on his lap sliding to the floor.

"Are you ready for lunch?" she asked, somewhat hotly.

Harry bent over to get his book, put off by Hermione's tone. He stood, nodding.

"Is, uh, is everything alright, Hermione?" he asked, warily.

"Everything is fine," she said, clearly in a tone that said she was not fine. But she didn't look at him again as they headed for the portrait hole. She led the way, briskly, and Harry was forced to lengthen his strides to keep up with her. Not once did she break her stride all the way to the great hall.

He watched her carefully from the back, noticing the way her shoulders came together every few strides, like she was trying to shrug something off. He sat down across from her at the table, Hermione sat next to Ron, who looked like he had also just arrived.

Without even a hello to Ron, she furiously dug into the lamb chops and steak sitting in front of her. As though Ron could feel the heat emanating off of her, he looked at her strangely.

"What's up with you?" he asked, shooting Harry a curious look.

Hermione only briefly looked up and seemed to shoot Harry what looked like a hurt look, but Ron only saw a glare.

"What did you do?" Ron asked again, raising his eyebrow at Harry.

As Hermione looked down at her food again, Harry just shrugged at Ron, without saying anything

Trying to avoid any awkward conversation with Hermione, Harry decided to talk to Ron. "Did you finish your essay?" he asked, hopefully.

Ron let out an enormous groan and shook his head. "I spent all morning reading! I didn't get one word down!"

Harry sighed, anticipating little more excitement this afternoon than he had this morning. Surely there was something, some homework he'd forgotten about that would force him to go to the library with Ron rather than avoid Hermione in the common room.

The rest of their meal was eaten in a huffy silence; Ron too confused by Hermione's anger to risk asking her again, and Harry too embarrassed by his involvement that he didn't want to reveal the situation further. Hermione didn't look up once, nor, though, did she open her book.

After fifteen minutes of complete silence, Ron stood up awkwardly. "Well, I shouldn't be too much longer. If you remember homework, Harry, come join me, will you?"

Ron smiled, consolingly, and walked away, leaving Harry and Hermione nearly alone at the Gryffindor table. Ginny and a friend sat a good ways near the front of the hall, while a couple second year girls sat on the other. Lunch was a peculiar meal on weekends because students came and ate as they liked, as lunch was open for two hours.

About a minute after Ron left, Hermione looked up at Harry and he could see that her eyes were red. They were not wet, but he could see she was frustrated.

Before she could say anything, he held up his hand and said, "I don't know what you are so angry about. Didn't we just talk about this?"

She huffed. "Oh, yes, I am so sorry," she said sarcastically. She looked around and lowered her voice, "Silly me that you would want to make out with me while I'm available, and when I ask about her all you say is 'Pity to bring her up now," which, upon reflection, isn't much of an answer in the first place. In fact, it's not an answer, it's avoiding giving me a real one."

She stood up, gave him one contemptuous look, and began walking towards the entrance of the great hall. Harry stood up quickly and ran after her. He caught up with her just as she rounded the corner.

"Hermione! It wasn't like that!" he said, grabbing her arm.

She spun around. "No? What was it like, then? Just biding your time with me? With Cho?" She paused, her eyes growing thin with hurt. "What do you really want, Harry?"

His eyes widened. She wasn't crying, in fact, she was being so honest that he found it refreshing. She wasn't talking about Cedric, she wasn't complaining or crying about how difficult her summer was. She was being Hermione, the annoying, bossy, know-it-all he'd known since his first year, demanding answers, demanding the truth. Demanding more out of him. His mouth dropped open slightly as he realized: not only had he had a meaningful conversation with this girl, unlike with Cho, but she knew him so well that her question was hardly serious…it was expressing her true feelings. He didn't know where Cho's mind was half the time. Just now, though, what Hermione had just said to him, that was a kind of assertiveness he needed. Otherwise, he'd avoid the whole situation until it made such an awkward confrontation that it was unable to bypass.

When his mouth dropped, Hermione's expression seemed to be infuriated further. "What?" she asked heatedly.

Without hesitating, for he knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to do what he was about to do, he grabbed Hermione in one swishing motion and brought her into a kiss. He pressed his mouth against her lips, feeling her struggle in his arms for only a few seconds, her arms pinned against Harry's chest, before she went limp and her arms slipped their way through his jacket. He moved a hand around her neck and into her hair, feeling her scalp, and the soft curls entangle his fingers. His other hand was on her waist, pulling her torso in towards his so that he could feel that soft curve of her body he remembered from their night together.

They didn't break the kiss for several minutes, completely lost in their embrace. When they finally came up for air, Harry leaned his forehead against hers, both breathing deeply.

\\//

The next couple days passed in a haze of secrecy. Hermione and Harry could only find snippets of time to steal away from reality and get lost in heated make out sessions in the empty corridors. The other twenty-two hours of the day were spent as was normal, or as normal, as they could make it around Ron.

Only once did they narrowly escape anxious eyes peering around the corner looking to see who was giggling. Harry had to clap a hand to Hermione's mouth and drag her between two statues that resembled Mrs. Norris. Hermione gasped into Harry's hand and recoiled into a hiccupping fit; Harry had to struggle to hold on to her and not burst into laughter himself.

After they departed from each secret meeting, Harry walked away with a pain in his gut that told him he was being reckless…that they were being reckless. He loved stealing time away with Hermione, but he knew it couldn't go on this way. He felt as though Hermione knew that as well, but they seemed to have sucked themselves into a comfortable schedule; one that wouldn't hurt anybody else, but would enable them to be together anyway.

Harry had managed to avoid Cho for what had ended up being over a week. Walking towards her in a hall, Ron snagged him and started bombarding him with questions from his mother about Christmas. Another time, Professor McGonagall rounded a corner and ran into him. In all the commotion, with Harry attempting to help pick up her things and her shooing him away and gathering them up a wave of her wand, Cho had disappeared, to Harry's immense relief.

Neither Harry nor Hermione were sure if Ron could tell something was different. He didn't let on about much if he did. Sometimes they could have sworn he intercepted a teasing gaze, playful smile, or their legs rubbing up against each other under the table. Harry had once, during Potions, reached across Hermione to grab her knife, with the simultaneous intention to get a whiff of her perfume; she had giggled and Ron had spun round.

"What?" he had asked in a low grunt.

Awkwardly, Hermione and Harry had just stood there, not daring to look at each other, and not daring to make anything up. Instead they just tried to contain their laughter, shrugged, and went back to their brewing. Harry had heard Ron heave a sigh and, out of the corner his eyes noticed that he was shaking his head.

One day, about a week and a half after the Thunderstorm, Harry had surprised Hermione by pulling her into an empty classroom as she had been walking down the hall. She flew in, her arm being yanked by Harry's as she was dragged in and pinned against the wall. He kissed her lips, and then her neck. She sighed.

"How long are we going to keep this up?" Harry asked, between his kisses.

Hermione smiled, pulling him in closer by his robes. "I think the question is…how long _can_ we keep doing this?"

Harry laughed. "That too." He didn't stop kissing her though. When he reached the crook of her neck, along her collarbone, he could already feel her heart beating, faster than was normal. "Hermione, your heart is pounding," he said, grinning slightly.

She tried to smile, but the curve of her mouth just made her look shocked. "I'm scared, Harry."

"It's okay," he said, looking into her eyes, "this classroom isn't used for the rest of the day, I checked."

Hermione shook her head. "That's not what I mean, Harry." She hesitated, not breaking their gaze. "I'm scared of where this is going…or not going."

He stood up straighter and looked at her curiously. "What do you mean…'this'?"

She straightened up as well and pulled out her sweater, which had been wrinkled by Harry's hands. She unpinned herself from the wall and walked away from where Harry was standing. "It's just that we've been sneaking around for over a week now, and believe me," she said, spinning around really fast, "I have enjoyed it very much. I've enjoyed you." She turned again, and kept pacing. "But Harry, is this real…or is this a fling?"

Harry's brow furrowed as he realized what Hermione was getting at.

"I realize," she continued, "that the whole secrecy portion of it makes this feel deeper, that it makes what we have more intense and incredible. The sneaking around is a rush, and, contrary to what I originally believed, does not get old. I hate to admit it to myself sometimes, but I enjoy it."

"But it's not enough…" Harry said, sort of completing her sentence, sort of realizing where she was going with her thought. She was right, sneaking around did make their relationship feel more intense. But what was it that he really wanted from Hermione? Did he want her to be his girlfriend? "Are you saying you want to make this public?" he asked, slightly unsure if that was the right thing to say.

She turned to face him once again. "I'm saying…I'm wondering, more over, if we want this to go any further, or if secretly making out in the corridors and empty classrooms is all that we really want from each other."

He watched her carefully. Last time they talked about their "relationship," he had clearly said the wrong thing. What was it she wanted? Could he read it on her face? Certainly kissing had been enjoyable, and the past week had been one of the best of the year, which was saying something considering the year he had had thus far.

His mind drifted back to the day he had kissed her outside the great hall, after she had yelled at him and forced him to face the real issue at hand. All the things he had thought then still held true. He still felt as though he had something deeper with her than with anyone else because she knew him so well. She forced him to think critically and it, in turn, had made him a better person.

"Hermione," he started, "I don't think what we have is deeper because we are sneaking around." He kept eye contact with her, walking towards her now. "I think it's deeper because we know that this is right. We both want this to be more, but at the moment, all we know how to do is to make the most of what we have."

Hermione's lip curled into a small smile, but he noticed her eyes were glistening. Instead of putting him off, however, it gave him a bit more fervor. "This can't be how far we go…because I know I haven't felt half of what we could potentially have together. This is real because we feel it," he had reached her now, standing right in front of her. He reached down for her hand and brought it up to his chest. "Do you feel that?" he asked.

The beat of his heart sounded like the drums to a fast paced song, one that required a faster movement to keep dancing to. Her gaze switched from his eyes to her hand on his heart. A tear trickled down her face and she sniffed it back.

"Harry?" she said, looking up at him. "Do you honestly believe that?"

He looked at her, and only pausing a moment for effect, he said, "Yes, I really do."

\\//

Hermione and Harry sat in reserve the couch in front of the fire that night, waiting for the common room to clear. It was very warm, and Harry felt his throat tighten from both the heat conjuring up inside his body and the heat from the fire. The remaining students drifted off to their sides of the dormitory. Ron had lazily said goodnight to his two best friends, repeating over and over how he could not recall ever being so tired, and left for bed.

As the last girl shut the door to the girl's side, Hermione shifted herself so that she was leaning against Harry, wedged into the crook of his arm. She took his hand and carefully put it in hers, massaging his palm with great care. He pulled her in close with ease, putting himself into the most comfortable position he'd ever been in. Her skin was so soft and her touch so careful.

He leaned his chin down and kissed the top of her head, "So, Hermione, does this…do we, I mean, are we…"

"Are we what?" She asked coolly, keeping her focus on the task in her hands.

He drew in a deep breath, "Are you my…my girlfriend?"

She paused, leaned her head back and gazed up into his brilliant green eyes. "Well that depends," she said with a smirk, reaching up to plant a kiss on his lips, "do you want me to be?"

He smiled, leaning down and placing a kiss on her lips, "Yes, yes I do."

Hermione turned back to his hand, which was still firmly grasped between her hands, "Then I accept. But you know, Harry, we're going to have to tell Ron. I hate lying to him, he doesn't deserve it. Plus," she said, a grin evident in her voice, "I don't want to keep you a secret any longer."

"Ahh," Harry said happily, "so we get to snog in public now? Or is it that you want a bite out of my fame?"

Hermione stopped rubbing his hand and sat up, turning around, a panic almost frightening. "Oh Harry, please tell me you don't really think that. I would never want you to think that. I would never do that!"

Harry laughed and pulled her back into his arms, "Of course I don't, I was teasing. I think that's why I feel so natural with you. I don't know many other girls, besides Cho and Ginny…" at both names, he felt Hermione flinch, but continued on anyway, "…and I wouldn't know whether or not they were using me or whether they really like me. But it's different with you, I feel like, you know…you almost dislike my notoriety."

She shook her head, "No, I don't dislike it, but I can sense you do. So I remain indifferent."

He smiled. He didn't enjoy being recognizable everywhere he went; girls snickering, boys jeering, adults gasping. It had gotten old by his second year of Hogwarts, traipsing through Diagon Alley, with every eye landing on him at Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing. It wasn't his fault he was famous, and it almost made him ashamed.

"Do you remember two years ago," Hermione began, "when you conjured that patronus to save Sirius and yourself?" She felt Harry nod. How could he forget, that was the most magnificent patronus he'd ever done, not to mention the first. "That's when I knew."

Harry hesitated, "Knew what?"

"Knew I liked you, silly," she said, sheepishly. "It sent shivers down my spine as I watched you stand there and all those dementors knocking into themselves as though they'd been stupefied. And it wasn't just because you did it," she said, pausing thoughtfully, "you found enough happiness inside of you, enough courage to realize your father wasn't the one who conjured it to stand up in front of all those dementors who'd already caused you so much grief, and just finished them off." A comfortable silence passed between them, Harry getting shivers himself, amazed that Hermione had the courage to tell him all that.

"Did you ever know, before that night, like I did?" Hermione asked, a bit of hope dripping from her words.

Harry thought for a moment, reflecting on the last five years he'd known her. The first thing she'd ever done for him was repair his glasses, at that point, he knew they were going to be great friends. "Second year," he said, smiling at the memory. "When you came running down the great hall after you'd been depetrified and threw your arms around me. I was so relieved that you were alright, and you looked like you were glad to see me too. Before that, as well, you were just a girl." She giggled, obviously remembering it too.

"Not to mention the ball last year," he added, reflecting once again. "Gosh…" his voice drifted away, amused by the mental image he had of Hermione in that beautiful dress. "Victor never deserved you, he never can fully appreciate you."

Hermione giggled, "Jealous, were you? I thought you were infatuated with Cho."

Harry scoffed, "I had never even spoken to the girl before, how can I be infatuated with someone who I don't even know?" He felt Hermione relax a bit more, as if his words were another drop of reassurance. She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it, then laid it on her stomach and became very still.

Harry stared into the fire, watching as the remaining flames burst in and out of the withering log. It was mesmerizing, and he found his eyelids were much heavier than they had been moments ago. He sighed, shutting them for a moment, then blinked them open, but they didn't stay. Before long he had comfortably rested his head against Hermione's and drifted into a deep slumber.

Hours later he could have sworn he heard whispering, but thinking it was part of his dream, he didn't respond. But the volume of the whispering grew and his eyes blinked open. Nearly two dozen Gryffindor students had gathered around the couch where he and Hermione still sat, she curled up in his arms, her head resting against his chest. His eyes widened as, once again, the nights' events came back to him. His arm, still laying on Hermione's waist, twitched, and he nudged her carefully. A broad smile overtook her face, but faded quickly as her eyes opened. A small gasp escaped from her lips, but she didn't move.

Both Harry and Hermione's eyes instinctively scanned the group for Ron, whom they saw near the back, his face clearly hurt. When his and Harry's eyes connected, he scowled and turned on his heels, heading out of the common room.


	4. Chapter 4

Murmurs echoed through the crowd as a twang of panic flew through Harry's body, a sudden feeling of guilt groped greedily at his mind. He watched helplessly as Ron's back became smaller and smaller, and then out of sight as he left the common room through the portrait hole. Harry stole a look at Hermione, who had a sort of dramatic, end-of-the-world look on her face, and just as panicked as he was. His eyes met hers, and ever so slightly gestured towards the direction in which Ron had left the room, hinting that he was going to go after him. Hermione nodded and sat up, to let him free.

Harry pushed through the crowd of onlookers, which had grown a fair amount since the moments they had been awoken. _Why does everybody care so much? _He thought to himself. _It wasn't as though we were naked._ A couple hands slapped him on the back, while other voices just wolf whistled, mostly he could hear whispers and see people pointing and gesturing towards him and Hermione, still sitting on the couch.

He glanced back at Hermione, hardly visible amongst the hoards of people gathered around her. He sighed and stepped out of the portrait hole, glancing fervently around the corridors looking for Ron. But Ron was nowhere in sight. Surely he had gone to breakfast. Whenever he was angry at Hermione, a meal always seemed to be the first place he would go. Whenever he was angry at Harry, he silently shut him out in whatever he did, which didn't ever help because that means he could be anywhere with anyone.

Sighing dramatically, Harry headed towards the great hall, fully aware he appeared quite unacceptable for the usual Hogwarts dress and attire.

_Ruddy uniforms,_ he thought menacingly, _they're comfortable, sure, but how do I make myself presentable at a time like this._ As he headed towards the great hall, he slipped his wand out of his pants pocket, pointed it at himself and muttered, "Tergeo." At once, his clothing straightened and the kinks from his hair vanished, however still the usual mess atop his head. He'd never used that spell on himself before and felt relieved it did what he'd hoped it would.

And he had done it just in time. He'd reached the entrance to the great hall just as he'd finished inspecting himself. He rushed inside and almost precisely as he did so, the loud clatter of students talking hushed as he walked past. Many heads turned. Although the hall wasn't in complete silence, he was aware that the majority of Gryffindor already knew. No one who had already arrived at breakfast could have avoided seeing he and Hermione entwined on the couch in the center of the common room.

He'd spotted Ron sitting down with Dean Thomas and another boy he did not recognize and began walking towards him when a sharp voice caught his attention from behind him. "Mr. Potter!" it was Professor McGonagall. "A word, please!" There were pointed snickers from many of the surrounding students. Harry froze, lingering on Ron's back before reluctantly turning to face his head-of-house.

"Professor," he gulped, aware that a red shade had protruded his normally pale white skin and was creeping quickly up towards his ears, where most of the sound from around him had been muffled as if someone were covering his ears with large hands. Professor McGonagall looked stern as she turned and motioned for Harry to follow her back out into the corridor.

She waited for a moment as a couple students hurried past and then used a stare worthy of Professor Snape through Harry. "There are rumors, and I dare say I would not pay any mind unless I felt it was worthy of attention, but if they are true, and I am hoping they are not, there would be serious consequences." Her tone changed to a serious, almost fearful one. "You cannot afford to step out of line, Mr. Potter, there are eyes everywhere in this castle. Now by all means, watch yourself and know that you have hundreds of little admirers looking up to you." As she straightened her robe and eyed him carefully, Harry could have sworn he'd seen a twinkle in her eye, but he dared not say anything. He knew perfectly well what types of consequences awaited him, but how could he have known he would fall asleep on the couch with Hermione?

"Of course, Professor," he said, not knowing what else to say. With a stern nod, the twinkle which may or may not have been there fading completely, she turned on her heels and headed in towards the staff table in the great hall.

He turned to follow her in, but as he was doing so ran head on into Ron. "Watch yourself," Ron said coldly, digging a shoulder into Harry as he pushed through him.

Harry caught Ron's arm, "Ron wait, let me talk to you."

Ron shook Harry off of him, "I can't, Harry. I…I just can't." He quickly sized himself up to Harry, already having a good three inches on him, now making himself appear much taller. Then turned his back to Harry and headed down the corridor towards Divination.

This was going to be a long day.

\\//

Divination, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts had already passed and neither Harry nor Hermione could get a word in edgewise to Ron. He wouldn't hear anything, and what's worse, he looked torn between extreme sadness and rage. The boy whom Ron had sat with at breakfast had stuck by his side for both classes, and Harry couldn't recall ever seeing the black haired boy in any classes, but knew he already didn't like him. There was something about him that made his stomach twinge, and not primarily out of jealousy. The boy was tall, nearly as tall as Ron, and let his dark hair droop carelessly in front of his face. He had brilliant brown eyes, but his essence almost reminded him of a young Professor Snape. However, his features were perfectly aligned making his character slightly irrelative to his distinctly attractive appearance. More over, his skin was darker, as if he had just spent the last two months on the beach, and as Harry looked closer, he could have sworn there were braids in sparse locations in his hair.

Hermione caught up to Harry from behind as he stood waiting by himself in the dungeon, preparing for Potions. He watched idly as Ron and his new friend exchanged a bit of conversation, clearly unaware of his presence. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a wall, concerned.

"I know you're worried about Ron," she said, looking concerned herself, "I am too. But we have got to get something straight. We were caught, but not punished, however, half the school knows already." She stared into his eyes, "You've got to talk to Cho."

Harry nodded, looking back towards Ron, who had been looking at them but quickly looked away before catching Harry's eye. Hermione softly took Harry's chin in her hand and turned it back to hers. "Furthermore, don't go pretending as if nothing happened." She straightened up herself, not quite as tall as Harry, but definitely looking her part, "If you want me to be your girlfriend, Ron will understand, but don't try to pretend as though it was nothing, it will just make him more upset." She set her hands against Harry's chest, patting him gently.

The dungeon door opened and Professor Snape stepped out into the small entry where almost two dozen students were waiting to be let in. He stared coldly around and muttered, "In." All students, not needing to be told twice, did exactly as he said.

"Please take out your assignments," he said firmly, replacing himself in the front of the classroom. There was a noisy shuffle as everyone whipped open their packs to dig for the essay he'd assigned out of a vain contempt for authority.

Professor Snape, who usually just swished his wand and let the papers come to him, chose to walk around to each desk and pick them up individually, maliciously grinding his teeth at every Gryffindor's essay.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape growled, "your essay?"

Ron barely flinched at Snape's chilling words. He simply stared him straight in the eye and said, "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't do the assignment."

Snape did his own form of a double take. He stared fiery daggers through Ron's head, but Ron didn't respond. "Very well, Mr. Weasley, detention. My office. 8'clock tonight." He shifted his gaze to the boy seated next to him. "And who may I ask are you?" Snape asked in his short and choppy monotone that could make a grown man stumble over his feet.

"Kristopher Alec, Professor Sir. I just registered today," Kristopher said curtly. He was clearly, and amazingly, unfazed by the demeaning manner of the teacher breathing hot air down his throat.

Snape merely nodded and headed towards the front of the classroom. As he did so, Hermione nudged Harry and hissed quietly, "What does he mean he didn't do it? Didn't we all do those together yesterday?" Harry nodded in agreement, but a tight knot had formed in his gut and knew, somehow that this was just Ron's anger ebbing out. This was certainly uncharacteristic of Ron, but frankly wasn't sure he was surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

The moment Snape grumbled class was dismissed, Ron and his new companion, Kristopher, packed their things in a hurry and bolted towards the door. Harry absentmindedly shoved his own things into his bag and hurried after them, Hermione close at his heels.

"Ron, wait!" Harry called after him. He felt a tug at his arm and Hermione drew him back, pursuing Ron herself. He let her go past and followed slower, feeling slightly helpless.

"Ronald, please wait," Hermione said impatiently. "You had that essay all finished, why didn't you turn it in? Detention with Professor Snape? That's mad!"

Ron whirled around, startling both Hermione and Kristopher, who was standing next to him. "No Hermione, I had your essay. The essay you wrote for me," he said curtly, glancing back and forth between Hermione and Harry, who was standing inches behind her, "I would rather spend the entire semester studying Potions in the dungeon with Professor Snape than another minute being…being…a third wheel to your madness. At least he's honest about how he's feeling, there's no mystery there. With you two, though, my so called best friends, who knows how long you've been gallivanting under my nose. I'd never take the credit of a liar." He cast them both a pained glare, hesitated for a moment, and then looked at Kristopher.

Kristopher was, of course, looking at Harry all during the time Ron yelled, and as such, a small crowd had gathered around them. Harry was staring at the back of Hermione's head, but then he felt eyes on him and he looked up into the tanned face of Kristopher.

A small smirk tugged at the boy's lip. "Harry Potter," he said. Harry nodded slightly. Kristopher stuck out his hand in a greeting. "Kristopher Alec. Our parents went to Hogwarts together."

Harry shook his hand, ignoring the scowl emitted by Ron. "Nice to meet you, Kristopher."

Kristopher maintained his smug expression as Ron nudged him. Without looking at the boy, he nodded at Harry, winked at Hermione, and followed Ron up the steps.

Hermione's eyes were glistening and she spun to face Harry throwing her arms around him. Some of the girls cooed around them, but Harry held her, understanding her distraught. They had been gallivanting under his nose, as he'd put it; they'd run into a road block that they hadn't met before and just didn't know how to get around it.

Hermione didn't cry, but she was breathing heavily. Ron was their best friend, but he wasn't even letting them give him an explanation. It was going to be last year all over again, except that Ron wouldn't talk to Hermione either; though Ron and Hermione's fights tended to be deeper and more extended. Ron wouldn't listen to Harry's explanation or reasoning for being chosen as a champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which turned into a much different concept than they expected. In this situation, however, it did happen to be their fault, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to enforce an explanation. They'd confirmed their relationship only moments after Ron had gone to bed, and awoken to see half of Gryffindor already in the know.

As the crowd dispersed, Hermione pried herself away from Harry's tight hug and looked up at him. "He'll come around, right?" she asked, more of an I-know-he-will than a question. Harry smiled blankly, hoping it would be true. But for once, he was unsure. Would Ron be able to get past this new development, or was he really so upset that he couldn't forgive Harry and Hermione for fiddling behind his back? If he would just let them explain he would realize that it came just as much of a shock to them as it did to everyone else.

Hermione gave Harry the same smile back, blank and unreadable. She stood up on her tip toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He shivered, still mesmerized by her kisses. He slid his hand down and grasped her hand and together they headed up the stairs and towards the great hall for lunch.

\\//

The moment the entrance to the great hall was in sight, Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and mutually agreed not to flaunt their relationship in front of Ron. But, to their surprise, Ron was going to be the least of their worries for the afternoon.

They rounded the corner and ran head first into a beet-red Cho, staring menacingly at the both of them. Without so much as a word of reasoning, Cho picked up her hand and laid it square across Harry's face. Most of the great hall turned deadly silent and eyes were on Harry, Cho, and an incredibly embarrassed Hermione.

"I cannot believe you," Cho said hotly, but under her breath and through clenched teeth. "I confided in you, I cried to you, I kissed you." She burst into sobs. "I just…oh! I can't believe you!" She slapped him again, without the slightest hint of remorse. Then she turned to Hermione. "And you! You…you…" her finger was pointing and her hand was shaking violently as if it were about to slap her too.

Hermione had clasped onto Harry, holding his arm with both her hands. "Now Cho, this isn't something to get all…" she started, her voice shaking about as fearfully as Cho's pointed finger.

Cho interrupted her, "I don't want to hear it. I just am so embarrassed that I can't think of anything to say. Harry, I thought you were different, but surely you're the same as any other boy." With that she spun on her heels and flew out the door, sobbing blindly into her hands.

Harry watched her for only a second, then turned back to the great hall. As his attention refocused, all students suddenly turned and began talking as though they hadn't seen anything. Hermione released Harry and looked up at his face. Very distinct hand marks were becoming visible along his left cheek.

"I would kiss it if no one was watching," Hermione whispered with a giggle. "Just you wait." Harry shivered again.

They got some food and sat down at the Gryffindor table across from Ginny Weasley. She noticed them sit down and began shoving food into her mouth. Hermione fell silent and a shot of red embarrassment spurted through her neck. Harry glanced at Hermione, then Ginny, completely confused. Ginny didn't say a word to them, but she stole a glance down the table at Ron and Kristopher.

Harry felt like he knew what was up. "Oh Ginny, Ron will be fine, he isn't even letting us explain what happened." Harry said, cutting into his baked potato. "I think he might just need time."

"Well you could have told anybody before we all just found the both of you curled up on the sofa," Ginny said bluntly, a bitter coldness dripping from her words. "He's not the only one who was unpleasantly surprised by this coupling."

Harry stared blankly at her, "Now why are you upset? I thought you liked us?"

Ginny didn't say anything, but she was staring icily at Hermione, daggers nearly protruding from her eyes. She stood up abruptly, huffing, and striding quickly down the center aisle towards the corridors. Hermione glanced at Harry, then hurried after her. Harry, quite confused, sat very still to try and hear anything from what was sure to be an unpleasant exchange between the girls.

"Date! Date, you tell me! A couple boys will get him to notice me! You just wanted me out of your way." Ginny huffed at Hermione. Harry strained to listen, but could only hear Ginny's sharp tone. "I can't believe I trusted you! I don't blame Ron, you two are disgusting."

Harry looked away when Ginny ran out the door and Hermione began walking back towards him. He heard a few whistles and, alongside, a few sneers, and turned just in time to see none other than Draco Malfoy block her way.

"Get away from me Draco," Hermione said, trying to be as calm as need be.

"What's the hurry, Granger?" Malfoy asked, rubbing up closer to her. "I just wanted to congratulate the happy couple." He was practically jarring his teeth.

Harry jumped up and dashed to Hermione's side. He caught them just as Hermione looked as though she was going to lay a fist square between Malfoy's eyes.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," Harry said, curtly.

Malfoy smirked, "Aw, isn't that cute. The boyfriend comes to her rescue." He sized himself up to Harry, but both boys seemed to be about the same height. "Don't worry, Potter, you don't have to defend much, I doubt that there'll be much complaint about you taking this one off the market. Everyone knows that anyone around you ends up being tossed to the dogs anyhow. Now there's just one less mudblood to finish off."

Harry grimaced and his hands clenched firmly at his side. Hermione noticed this and put her own hands on top of his to keep him from flailing at Malfoy.

Malfoy chuckled, "Well, its good she's got your back, it's better than Weasley. He wouldn't be more help than Neville's bloody frog. He was smart to scoot while he had the chance. I've got to hand it to him. It must be in his pureblood nature." The boys stood and glared at each other for a brief moment, as though trying to see who could stare holes through the other's robes. "What's the matter, Potter?" Malfoy jeered. "Are you going to let a girl keep you from fighting? She's already got you wrapped around her finger." Around him, Crab and Goyle laughed heartedly, as did other Slytherins within earshot.

Now Harry became really furious, but he felt himself being towed away from behind before he could lay a hand on Malfoy. His arms wriggled themselves from Hermione's grasp and were heading towards the blonde head's throat in front of him. Hermione reached out quickly and rewrapped her hands around Harry's arms and pulled him back again, dragging him towards the corridor.

From behind Malfoy, Ron jarred him hard in the back with his shoulder, nearly knocking him to the ground. Ron was a good four or five inches taller than both boys.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron sneered. Kristopher was on his tail, who also snarled at the boy. _Ron must have already educated him on Malfoy_, Harry thought. Ron bent over slightly and whispered something to Kristopher, who snickered and looked over his shoulder. A look of hope spread over Harry's face. Could their mutual distaste for Draco Malfoy bring the boys back to speaking terms? To Harry's dismay, Ron shoved into Harry as he passed, too, barely casting so much as a glance in Harry's direction. The shove had pushed Harry into Hermione, and both hard into the wall they were already so close to.

Hermione rubbed the back of her head as Harry straightened himself up. "Thanks for softening the blow," he said with a sigh, glancing at her head in concern.

"I think the shoulder hurt worse," Hermione said, pointedly.

Harry watched as Ron walked with Kristopher towards the Gryffindor common room. Once again, as it happened with Malfoy, Kristopher glanced back at Harry with a smug smile toying at his lips. Ron, however, did not look back, and Kristopher quickly turned to continue walking with Ron.

Hermione tugged on Harry's arm and slipped her hand into Harry's. "Come on, we can go to the library." He relented, feeling a mixture of extreme fury and sorrow all at once did not give him much of a handle on his actions. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand, and he squeezed back, signaling that he had some life left in him.

They walked in silence for several moments, both thinking about the extreme embarrassment they had both experienced over the last fifteen minutes; first Cho, then Ginny, and, worst of all, Malfoy. He might not have been able to silence Cho, or understood anything between Ginny and Hermione, but he sure would have taken pleasure in shutting Malfoy's face with a nice solid punch for attacking the both of them, and Ron. For some reason, a physical reaction to Malfoy's insults seemed to be much more satisfying than any hex or charm from his wand.

He was jarred from his deep thought when Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder, still walking with her hand in his.

Harry smiled blissfully. "Are you alright?" He asked, regarding the disgrace Malfoy had just lavished on her.

She nodded, without raising her head from Harry's shoulder. "It made me realize that although it is quite wretched of people not to understand us, I've been happier in the last week and a half than I have been in ages."

Harry stopped and spun Hermione around to face him, slipping his hands around her waist. "You know," he said, his eyes wide and uplifting, "I have too." He bent over slightly and kissed her, pulling her in closer and feeling her smile into the kiss. He smiled back and they broke apart, Hermione giggling softly. She replaced her head on his shoulder as they walked the remaining distance to the library.

As they approached the entrance to the library, Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder in an already ritualistic way, and began to release Harry's hand when Harry's grip tightened. Hermione raised eyebrow and glanced up at him. He have her a broad smile and grasped her hand firmly.

Heads turned and whispers were exchanged as Hermione and Harry walked arm in arm through the library. Everyone knew by now, they were assured, and not just because they were visibly together. No, word got around so quickly from student to student that more people probably knew about their relationship before they did themselves. Neither seemed to care about the stares as both seemed completely transfixed with each other.

Hermione knew her way around the library better than most of the staff, Harry was still amazed at how much she knew and even more at how much she read. There weren't enough hours in the day to learn the type of stuff Hermione took the time to. Her hand was always the first up in every class, from Charms to Potions. She had been keeping her mouth shut in Defense Against the Dark Arts for obvious reasons, mostly because the moment she opened her mouth was the moment Harry would fire up his series of defense speeches, only landing him in detention and a fresh "I must not tell lies" ingrained onto the back of his hand.

Hermione had known a ton before she had even come to Hogwarts, which she exhibited on the Hogwarts Express. She was born to Muggles, yet even so, she knew the name Harry Potter, a series of spells, and had read _Hogwarts: A History_. Within two days of discovering he was a wizard, Harry only knew the truth of his parents' death, but he had met Hermione and she had fixed his glasses with a simple flick of her wand. He'd barely begun to get used to the idea that this magical world existed before it was being preformed on him. He was so used to Hermione fixing his glasses nowadays, he barely even noticed when she did it anymore.

Hermione tugged Harry down isles, carefully examining shelves as she went. Harry allowed himself to be towed, figuring he had nothing better to do. He watched her deliberate over each book she pulled out, letting out a scoff at some points and a grunt of frustration at others. She was now looking at a book that finally required both hands, so she took her hand back from Harry. He frowned for a moment, but then grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist. She giggled, but didn't look up from her book.

_Ron would come around_, he thought to himself, _he just doesn't understand._

"Don't worry," Hermione said, without turning around, "let's give Ron a couple days to cool down and get used to us."

"How did you know what I was thinking about," Harry asked, a bit apprehensively.

"Because I am thinking about it too," she said simply. She pulled another book off the shelf and smiled, turning to face him. "This one should do it, let's go find a seat."


	6. Chapter 6

Days turned into weeks as Harry and Hermione endured consistent scathing harassment, particularly from the Slytherins. But overall the novelty of their relationship faded and although they were the most gossiped about, they suffered increasingly less humiliation to their faces. Every once in a while Harry would hear a whisper as he passed hand-in-hand with Hermione, but that too became less and less.

Ron still wasn't being friendly to neither Harry nor Hermione, but he had quit ignoring them completely. It turned out to be completely pointless because he found himself forced to communicate with them in one form on another everyday. If it wasn't in DA meetings, then it was during Quidditch or class time. Harry was finding this method of treatment much more difficult than the complete silence particularly because Ron did very well at hiding what he really felt when he was talking to them.

Kristopher hadn't helped the matter either, but was more a mystery than a nuisance. Ron had befriended him so quickly that they were sure he was making a lame attempt at making them jealous, which of course worked. Kristopher was no dull bulb, however. He was, in fact, a male version of Hermione, without the incessant know-it-all schema. He had made it his objective on multiple occasions to correct Hermione, but embarrassingly failed, and shut up quickly. Ron had even seemed embarrassed for him, as if he were thinking, _you fool, Hermione knows everything._

Ron brought him to all the DA meetings, during which they learned of his keen, yet naïve, knowledge of the dark arts. He was quick witted, but shallow as a footprint in hard cement. His perception of life swarmed with power and magical prospects that Hermione surmised was causal Death Eater talk.

The DA had altered dramatically since Harry and Hermione began dating. There seemed to be almost a dozen more arrivals since, with the exception of Cho and her friend, who were only permitted leave by a very serious hex threat from multiple members of the DA, excluding Harry and Hermione. In reality, Kristopher was nothing more than a new face, but yet, a knot tightened in Harry's stomach during confrontations with the boy.

Hermione jotted it up to jealousy, when Harry shared his feelings. "Don't be silly," she'd said, "you're just jealous. I am too. It's nothing more than upset nerves."

But Hermione could tell Harry sensed something, and after four and a half years of learning that although Harry's instincts had a bit of madness to them, they always seemed to be alarmingly accurate. Hermione did not express it out loud, but watched Kristopher more closely to see if she could catch on to Harry's skepticism.

To her surprise, she did catch on and practically hurled herself on the bandwagon. One evening over dinner with Neville and Harry, she spilled all of her latest notations. She went on for nearly ten minutes recounting her latest encounters with Kristopher. The most prominent in her mind was the eerie fondness that Snape displayed towards him, the only Gryffindor any of the three of them could recall that Snape had treated as though he were a member of his own house. It was freakishly similar to the treatment given to Draco Malfoy. In fact, she had continued, Malfoy had even seemed to sneer at him out of jealousy and not simply blind hatred.

Harry wanted to know if Ron noticed, too. He had half a mind to pull the boy aside and ask him, but Hermione insisted that it would only make matters worse. Harry reluctantly agreed, feeling the familiar twinge of sadness grip at his stomach. Things didn't seem as though they were ever going to be right between him and Ron again.

But they knew Ron wasn't an idiot. If there were serious ill motives on Kristopher's part, would he not detect it immediately and push aside any complications between them to try and resolve the issue? Or was he too angry with both Harry and Hermione and decided to use him as a powerful revenge? It wasn't like Ron to allow any sort of evil to lurk where it need not be, but it _was_ like Ron to be blinded by his pride. It happened every once in a wile, Ron would insist that he was correct and hang onto that notion until very persuasive evidence could alter his state of mind. Now the question was, could Ron escape from something he'd already become so involved in? It had been weeks since he and Kristopher had become friends, could he get himself out of something he knew was wrong when he was already that close to the source?

Or perhaps, as Hermione had first thought, they were paranoid and hoping for a reason that Ron refused to forgive them for what was clearly an innocent mistake. It could be as simple as upset stomachs, they were so set on finding something wrong with Kristopher that they hadn't even considered the fact that Ron may prefer to be around him rather than his former best friends who lied to him.

It had been nearly a month and Ron had shown no change in attitude, other than an obligation to communicate on occasion. A month was a long time to hold a grudge without so much as a word in otherwise, and Harry and Hermione were getting the idea that Ron just didn't want to be around them anymore.

\\//

Christmas was nearing, the first rescheduled Hogsmead visit was to be the upcoming weekend and excitement already buzzed in the air for the approaching holiday. Classes had been cancelled the Friday before the Hogsmead visit due to complications on Professor Umbridge's behalf and it required multiple members from the Ministry of Magic to come to the school. Harry was relieved that for once the Ministry wasn't here on his account and he had nothing to do with this particular excursion.

No one, in fact, knew what it was about. There were rumors floating about, but none were close to being believable. Most rumors fancied Umbridge's departure from Hogwarts in extravagant displays of execution, imprisonment, or simply being booted off the grounds by Dumbledore's foot.

The great hall was shockingly quiet, as most students were frightened by the presence of the Ministry members at the staff table, including Percy Weasley. The boy had only graduated from Hogwarts two years ago, and he was already far advanced into the Ministry's dealings. As Harry sat with Hermione and Neville, as was the custom lately, he stole a glance down the table at Ron, who was fuming into his bowl of soup. Kristopher was clueless as he jabbed a knife of butter over a piece of bread, and Ron didn't look as though he had the slightest desire to clue him in.

Harry sighed and glanced back at his own food, once again not feeling hungry. "Are you not hungry again?" Hermione asked him, appearing genuinely concerned. "That's two days in a row you haven't touched your food!" she continued, exasperatingly. "You cannot afford to lose any more weight, you're already scrawny and bony, and I don't care to see your ribs poking through your robes. This has got to end, if you don't eat, I will force feed you."

Harry's mouth flickered with a hint of a smile, but he didn't touch his food. Hermione didn't have time to pick up his fork before Ron's identical twin brothers, Fred and George, approached the three of them. As the twins sat down, each looking disconcerted, Hermione gave them what had become their typical "I-give-up" glance. Fred and George had remained remarkably mutually loyal to both Ron and Harry, since they had already been keen on denying their kinship to Ron before the big spurt between their friends. They showed sympathy towards Ron, since he was their brother but they could not understand his prolonged disillusionment towards Harry.

"Still not doing well, mate?" Fred asked, giving Harry a pat on the back.

"Don't take it so rough," George added.

"Ron isn't doing that great either," Fred finished.

Harry's brow twitched at their words, a surge of satisfaction rushing through his body. When he didn't respond to their comment, both shrugged and pulled up a plate and began to dish food greedily onto it.

"You know," Fred said, scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate, "you haven't exactly done a whole lot towards reconciliation lately."

"Especially since Ron's been speaking to you again," George continued.

"That should be your first clue that he wants to repair the damage," Fred added.

Harry looked up, but didn't get the change to reply because Hermione answered first. "It goes both ways," she said hotly. "We're nice to him, always say hi when we pass and he either ignores us or glares. I wouldn't go as far to say that we haven't done anything."

George shrugged, "Ron isn't the brightest bulb in the socket."

"Give him a little air to breathe," Fred said.

"It's two against one," George said.

"And that's intimidating as it is, not to mention the embarrassment of his two best friends pairing off," Fred concluded.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, their gazes locking. Since when did Fred and George take this much time to help their brother? It was not like them to offer up so much of anything unconcerned with their joke shop so freely. But Harry and Hermione knew they were right. It would be mightily embarrassing to know your two best friends had been snogging and didn't have the courtesy to inform you about their newly developed relationship, leaving you quite in the dark and quite without the safety of the friends' net to back you up.

Harry hadn't thought of it that way before, and the newfound guilt made him even less hungry than he was. Hermione sighed, knowing this to be true, and returned to her own food realizing any persuasion on her part was only going to be as useful as a barking toad.

Minutes ticked by and Harry merely poked at his food, ignoring the huffs by Hermione, who had pulled out a book and was reading because of Harry's lack of entertainment. Casually, Harry stole a glance down the table at Ron, only to find Ron was walking away from him, towards Angelina, but Kristopher was still there, staring blatantly at Harry with a raw smirk on his face. Instantly upon their locked gaze, a searing pain burst through Harry's head and seemed to emanate from his scar as though fire were bursting through its lightning bolt frame. He choked in pain and his hand flew up to grasp his head in agony, pressing against his forehead as though his hands were cold cloths used to soften a fever. Hermione, Neville, Fred, and George all practically jumped out of their seats, looking alarmed at Harry's sudden burst of life.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked, a worried shock spreading across her face. She asked, but she already knew what it was, since Harry was obviously clutching his scar.

"Scar…" Harry mumbled, his teeth still clenched in pain. To his utter devastation, the pain did not subside, but almost seemed to get worse. He groaned in pain and rested his head against the table, as though ducking from a line of hexes shot at head level. He couldn't see, the searing pain blinding him from everything around him, causing him to flail a little more helplessly until four pairs of arms attempted to restrain him. When his hands were tucked firmly at his side and he had no way to try and ease the pain of his head, the ache drove his mind into silence, and his head into darkness.

\\//

When Harry awoke, within a time span he could not pinpoint, his eyes opened, but he found it difficult to see anything. Instinctively, he reached to the stand beside his bed and felt for his glasses, but they were not there. He sat up and, with a very nervous, shaking hand, he felt his face, disappointed to feel that his glasses were, indeed, on his face. He blinked a couple times and looked around, only able to make out the blurry blots of four figures huddled around his bed.

"Harry?" a distant voice said. He looked towards it, able to make out a pile of brown on peach, connected to black, but unable to see much else.

"Who's there?" he shouted, thinking that the four people must be fairly far away that he could barely hear one of them.

"Don't shout," another voice said, coming in a little clearer. "We're right next to you!"

His vision didn't improve, but his ears were picking up quieter murmuring, and soon all the familiar noises of his dormitory flooded back into ear shot. He could make out the whispering voices of Fred and George, and could have sworn the first voice was Hermione's and the second, Neville's.

Harry reached up and removed his glasses, made a feeble attempt to wipe them clean on his shirt, but could not seem to find anything to clean them. He felt as two very soft hands took his glasses from him, and, moments later, slipped them back on his face.

"Is that better?" Hermione asked in a hoarse whisper, her own voice sounding frightened.

Harry blinked a couple more times, but still couldn't see much more than the faded outlines of his four friends. He shook his head and closed his eyes again to relieve the stress his eyes felt at the lack of focus in his vision.

"What happened?" he asked, vaguely recalling the recent events.

"You, well, you sort of, flipped out," Fred, or George, said.

"Next thing we know you're on the ground," George, or Fred, added. A brief silence followed, as the four tried to read the vacant expression on Harry's face. But it remained still and apathetic.

Hermione coughed very quietly. "Was it…was it your scar, Harry?" she asked, placing a hand on his forearm. He reached up with the hand Hermione was not holding and felt his scar. Upon touching it, he winced, feeling a little pain almost shock his finger. Then it all rushed back to him. He had looked for Ron, but instead, locked eyes with Kristopher, immediately feeling the searing pain slice his head open like an axe to butter. As this dawning comprehension occurred, he opened his eyes, blinking a couple times, and felt an icy-like water seem to melt from the from of his eyes, trickling like tears down his face. But he could see his friends now, all struck with fear, clearly visible on their faces. None tried to hide the obvious concern they felt.

He reached up and rubbed the water from his eyes, blinking again and refocusing on Hermione, who had seated herself next to Harry on his bed. "Did I make quite a scene?" Harry asked numbly, trying to get his friends to rid themselves of their panicked faces.

"Ahh, it wasn't that bad, Harry," Neville said, his expression unchanged. "You looked like…you looked as though…" his voice trailed off, not able to bring himself to say what he was thinking.

"As though you were put on a mild case of the Cruciatus curse," Fred finished for him.

"It wasn't full out torture," George said.

"But you looked like you were in serious pain," Fred said. At these words, Neville shuddered violently, and lowered his gaze to Harry's sheets.

One of Hermione's hands was still resting on Harry's arm, the other gripping his hand tightly; she hadn't brought herself to say much yet. Instead of going into a lengthy speech of suggestions, she merely caught his gaze and said, "You'd better get some sleep and we can talk about this in the morning." She stood up, casting pointed glances at the other three, who stood up reluctantly. "You really need to eat something," she said, whispering. "This has gotten very out of hand."

Harry wasn't quite following what she meant, but he couldn't really think straight at the moment. The three boys turned to leave, and Hermione bent down quickly, when their backs were turned, and planted a kiss on his lips. Then he laid back onto his pillow and removed his glasses, setting them onto his nightstand, and felt unconsciousness approach him unnervingly quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

_His body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars across dark, cold stone. He was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly. It was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colors. _

_He was turning his head. At first glance, the corridor was empty, but no, a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping onto his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark. Harry put out his tongue. He tasted the man's scent on the air. He was alive, but drowsing, sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor. _

_Harry longed to bite the man, but he must master the impulse, he had more important work to do. But the man was stirring, the silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt. He had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once. Twice. Three times. Plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood. The man was yelling in pain, and he fell silent. He slumped backward against the wall. Blood was splattering onto the floor. _

_His forehead hurt terribly, it was aching, fit to burst…_

\\//

"Harry! Harry!" he opened his eyes, every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat.

Harry's eyes opened with a violent start, startling Ron, who had been shaking him awake. Ron let go of him, obviously unnerved by Harry's current state. He took couple steps backwards still looking at him cautiously. Dean Thomas, Seamus, and to Harry's dismay, Kristopher joined Ron at his bed side.

"Your dad!" Harry gasped through spurts of breath. "Your dad has been attacked!"

"Harry," Ron mumbled, "you were asleep, it was a dream." He looked half worried and half as though he was about to scoff.

Harry shook his head fervently. "No, it was real!"

Kristopher and Seamus exchanged unbelieving glances, but Dean looked terrified. "I'll go get help!" he shouted as he raced towards the door.

Ron came closer to Harry's side. Although he was still not on great terms with Harry, he never knew Harry to go so low as to make things up. Whatever Harry happened to experienced seemed to be freakishly accurate, "What happened?" Ron asked, ignoring a tug on his arm by Kristopher.

"A snake!" Harry said, breathlessly. "Your dad…I was a snake…he's bleeding terribly!" Harry couldn't understand why no one else was panicking. This was the most heart-wrenching moment and only he could feel it, only he knew that the fate of Ron's dad rested in the hands of urgency and panic. Were no one to believe him, the man would surely be dead within the hour. The fangs, the blood, the cry…it was replaying over and over in Harry's mind and he watched Ron's face contort into a gaping, gnawing freight.

Ron looked as thought he was interpreting the look of horror on Harry's face correctly, and in one swift movement he fell to his knees with a loud thud reverberating throughout the room. Kristopher knelt down beside Ron and laid a hand on his shoulder, but it was doubtful that Ron even noticed.

Moments later, Professor McGonagall burst through the doors closely followed by Dean, both with looks of high concern.

"Harry!" Professor McGonagall's usually shrill voice sounded relaxed, concerned, soft, and genuinely concerned. "What happened? Did you have a nightmare?"

And Harry told bits and pieces to the perplexed audience before him, the parts he could remember at the moment and put into words that actually meant something other than groans of pain. Before he knew it, Professor McGonagall had seized both him and Ron by the wrists and was dragging them both out of their dormitory, down the hard, wooden steps, out the portrait hole, and, what appeared to Harry's confounded mind, toward the Headmaster's office.

Harry glanced at Ron as they were both released and Professor McGonagall shouted the password at the gargoyle guarding Professor Dumbledore's office, but Ron stared blankly ahead, shadowed in his own thoughts which looked as though he were about to be sentenced to death.

For the next hour, Harry retold his dream in full, retelling bits and pieces to the Headmaster as he was instructed, and allowed Dumbledore to silently mull over the highly disturbing vision. Harry argued his case over and over that it was not a dream, he was actually there, he was the snake. He knew Professor Dumbledore believed him, but he was becoming more and more furious as the minutes dragged on and still the headmaster would not look at him or confide his thoughts with the other three occupants of the room.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore instructed certain former headmasters in the paintings around the room to alert the residents in the homes of their other portraits and to locate the whereabouts of Mr. Weasley. He asked Professor McGonagall to retrieve the other Weasley children, and they were to take a port key to Sirius's house to rejoin their family for an earlier Christmas.

As the other three Weasley's joined Harry and Ron, they attempted to sputter their inaudible, frantic questions at both professors and the boys themselves, but Professor Dumbledore silenced them and instructed them on their purpose for being where they are.

"I am sending you to number 12 Grimauld Place where you are to meet up with Sirius, who knows precisely what is going on and will have you prepared for when Mrs. Weasley discovers the news for herself," Dumbledore said softly. "I cannot answer any questions, for it has come to our attention that Professor Umbridge has detected your wandering and frankly, it would not do to have her storming in on us. So, without further ado, all of you come here and grasp this teapot." He waited until each of the students had a hand on the artifact and began to count, "One, two, three!"

All four of the Weasley's and Harry were hurtled through space, the blinding cloud-like air slapping their exposed skin and seeping through their light nightwear. In minutes they were all sprawling onto the kitchen floor of number 12 Grimauld Place, and the teapot noisily clanked off a chair not five inches away from Ginny's head. The Weasley's quickly gathered themselves and pushed to their feet, silently, and stared horrifically at Harry.

Harry sensed that, once again, the entire attentiveness of the room was focused on him. Mightily uncomfortable at this awareness, he was relieved when Sirius strolled into the kitchen, dressed grubbily as usual, but had a flustered smile on his face.

"Oh good," he said, trying to sound cheerful, "I haven't had visitors for a long time."

None of the Weasley's looked at him though, and he noticed this. He stared at the four of them for a moment, then followed their gaze to Harry, who was still resting his elbows on the floor, nearly the same position as when he landed from the port key. Sirius looked questionably at Harry, as if to ask, _why the ruddy hell are you on the floor?_ But shuffled over to him, regardless, and helped him to his feet. Harry barely felt as though he had the strength to stand, and felt this as his knees buckled and his arms swung out, grasping for the nearest chair. Sirius helped him to the kitchen table and sat him down.

"I'll make us some tea," he said, motioning for the four other children to sit. "Maybe that'll clear the tension," he muttered, barely audible.

To Harry's relief, the incessant gazes from his friends subsided and they sat at the table, all waiting as Sirius stoked the fire and coaxed the water to boil. Harry figured that the urgency of Sirius' stoking caused the water to boil so quickly, just as Harry's anger had caused his aunt Marge to blow up so quickly nearly three years ago.

Sirius hastened to full the Black Family's silver goblets he had set in front of each child, then filled his own and sat with them.

"Moody and Mondungus found your father," Sirius, pointedly, at Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. His voice was gentle and soothing, as if to lift their worry-stricken faces. "He's being transported to St. Mungos as we speak." Ron's gaze shot up as he glanced at Sirius, and a hint of relief passed over his eyes.

"What is going on?" Ginny finally asked, looking both exasperated and completely confused, and from the glistening look of her eyes, near tears.

All eyes shifted back to Harry, including Sirius'. "Yes, I'd like to know the whole story as well," he said, slowly yet firmly.

"McGonagall only told us something had happened to dad," George said.

"And we were to go home immediately," Fred added quickly. Ron, though, stayed quiet, for he had heard the story twice now and seemed as though he was wracking his mind to piece the information together.

Harry sighed, realizing he musn't deprive his friends from the truth, acknowledging the way he would feel if the dream had concerned Sirius. For the fourth time that evening, Harry relived his treacherous nightmare and no longer received daggers from his friend's eyes, but concern, gratitude, and to his relief, shock. The story trickled out word for word, but Harry didn't care to look into the shock-filled eyes of his companions, especially Ron's. This was the first time in ages that he had been in the same room with all the Weasley's in a non-threatening situation. Ginny hadn't paid him too much mind since he and Hermione had been dating, and Ron, obviously, wished to have nothing to do with him. He felt overtly tangled between extremely concerned and wishing that he had not had the dream in the first place. He could still feel a light prickle of heat dancing on his scar, which had felt agonizing at the time of his dream, and silently cursed it for its annoyance.

After he finished, the four Weasley's, Harry, and Sirius sat in silence for a long while with only the popping of the simmering fire behind them making any noise. Sirius announced bedtime, pointing out that it was already near 4 a.m., and sent them to bed. All five kids, being so weary and exhausted from the evening's events, did not argue, but drug themselves to previously designated quarters and said their goodnights. To Harry's surprised, each patted him on the back before they retired as a hint of the only gratefulness they could muster in their sleepy walk.

Ron crawled into his own bed, but didn't lie down. He sat against the headboard and watched Harry climb into the bed next to him. When Harry realized that Ron hadn't immediately shoved himself under the covers, refusing to acknowledge Harry's existence, his hopes rose and he did likewise. The boys stared at each other for several moments before Ron spoke.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, regret flooding through his words. His voice was sturdy, unshaken. "I've been acting like a git these past couple weeks, and you still find it in yourself to go and save my dad."

Harry stayed silent, unbelieving that Ron was apologizing to _him_. "No, Ron. It's me that should be sorry."

Ron held up a hand and Harry stopped talking. "Just, let me get this out…" he said, his voice becoming sullen again, but not cross. Harry studied him and could tell there was a sort of war going on inside his mind, and to his great relief, the good was destroying the bad. "Cho was one thing. She's not our best friend, so its not as though if you were off snogging I couldn't spend time with someone else. But Hermione was…just a blow. Then…both of you acted as though…acted so normal, towards me. I don't know what made me so angry, but all this time I felt that I dug myself deeper every time I ignored you. I knew I was being a git, but it…it…"

"Hurt?" Harry offered.

Ron nodded. "I guess I thought that if I made you two hurt as much as I did, we'd be even. But I couldn't seem to shake myself from it." He hung his head, both ashamed and tired.

"We miss you a whole lot, Ron," Harry said quietly, staring fixedly at his friend. Ron raised his head toward Harry again. "Nothing has been the same without you," Harry continued. "You're still my best mate, nothing can change that. Not even Hermione."

Ron forced a grin. Harry could tell he was pleased, but as he himself felt it difficult to display more emotion than necessary due to the looming weight of drowsiness pounding on their skulls, knew that the force was more than he could have asked for.

"That's good to hear," he said, yawning slightly. They fell silent for a moment longer before Ron asked, hesitating slightly before continuing. "Are you…are you happy?"

A smile played at Harry's lips, "Yeah, I am."

Ron nodded, "Then that's that." He slid himself under the covers. "I am too." Harry grinned, ignoring the heaviness of his eyelids, and slid under his own covers. "Friends, again?" Ron asked.

Harry smiled even broader, although Ron could not see him. "Friends."


	8. Chapter 8

The boys woke with a start the following morning as Mrs. Weasley burst through their bedroom door and flung her arms around Harry. Ron sat up quickly, very shocked at his mother's behavior and kind of relieved that it was not he in his mother's embrace by the exasperated expression on Harry's face.

"Oh, my dear! If you hadn't…if you…" she sounded near tears as she fumbled for words. She finally let him go and patted his face with her hands. Harry duly noted the tears in her eyes and tried to smile, but frankly, the disturbance of being woken and embraced all within a matter of three seconds had not been the most pleasant of awakenings, although he appreciated the notion. Mrs. Weasley turned to her son and gave him a huge hug as well.

"Oh come off it, mum," he said, after she planted a wet kiss on his forehead. "Dad's going to be alright, isn't he? What's the point in getting all wishy washy?"

She sat on Ron's bed so she could gaze upon both boys. "Yes, your father is going to be quite alright. But by the time Moody and Mundungus found him he was completely unconscious and still losing a lot of blood. They got him to St. Mungo quickly though, lucky apparation is allowed inside the entrance there, isn't it?" She looked at her son very lovingly, as though she thought she might have never seen him again. Harry smirked, but Ron's face turned a deep crimson, clashing horribly with his hair. Mrs. Weasley burst into tears and grabbed her son again, pulling him tight into a hug. "You just never know anymore! What if…what if we'd lost him?"

Harry swung his feet onto the ground, finally giving into the steady stream of light pouring into the extensive room. "The important thing is that we haven't lost him, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, giving her a mixture of a smile and a yawn, but neither coming out with the upper hand so he just appeared to be roaring silently.

Mrs. Weasley let Ron go again and looked at Harry, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her very pretty brown dress. "You're absolutely right, dear," she said. "We musn't focus on what hasn't happened and rather turn our attention to the blessing of realizing we've savored something that was surely gone." She smiled broadly, her tears vanishing. "Alright, get your bottoms out of bed and into some clothes. I have food ready for you."

Ron swung his feet onto the floor, as Harry was, and into his slippers. "How long have you been here?" he asked, getting to his feet.

Mrs. Weasley stopped at the door and turned around. "Oh, only about ten minutes, but I brought food from home," she said, smiling, then disappeared shutting the door behind her.

Harry pulled off his shirt, which seemed to stick to his chest with the heat of the mere four-hour sleep he had gotten. He was very relieved that he had not had another nightmare, another horrific adventure of being possessed by a creature that killed venomously. He touched his scar, it wasn't prickling either, and he smiled in satisfaction.

"Is your scar hurting?" Ron asked, who was undressing likewise.

Harry turned and glanced at Ron, shaking his head, "No. But it was yesterday. It felt as though fire were about to burst through my skin."

Ron's face turned pale, but he nodded. "Do you think you-know-who was there?" he asked, starting to make his bed, shirtless. "You know, in our," he gulped, "in our dormitory."

Harry hesitated, tasting something unpleasant in his mouth. How could he tell Ron that he thought he had been the snake? Would he need to? Was it vital to the story? But before he could answer him, a large crack shook the walls so hard that Harry nearly fell clean off his feet.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, disgusted his brothers were still in the horrid habit of apparating everywhere they went.

"We'd like to know that too," Fred said, ignoring the snide look from Ron. He looked relatively more cheerful than hours before, in which Harry though all the Weasley children might rip his head off.

"Was you-know-who in your dream? Is that why your scar hurt?" George asked, his eyebrows lifting his forehead considerably higher than it was in the first place.

Harry hesitated yet again, how was it the twins could hear everything that was going on at all times. Then he caught a glimpse of what each of the boys held in their hands, extendable ears. He let out his breath, which he had unconsciously been holding since Ron had asked him the question first.

"Well," he started, unsure of how to exactly handle the situation. "My scar was burning terribly when I woke up. And putting two and two together," he said with a shrug, "I figure that Voldemort was the snake." He ignored the wince at the mention of Voldemort's name and went on. "The emotions were so real that it could have only been that we were both possessing the snake, but I was, in a way, helplessly involved in an attack I couldn't control."

None of the boys said anything for several moments. Then a sly grin crossed over George's face. "Were you two having a row to see who is the scrawniest?" he asked, comparing both shirtless boys in front of him.

"I must say, with Harry's lack of consistent nutritional diet, he's really got you beat, Ron," Fred grinned.

"Yes," George continued, "you'd better start talking to him again, Ron. Harry's turning into a girl, letting his emotions affect his eating habits."

Ron and Harry exchanged embarrassed glances, both coming to the conscious acknowledgement that they had no new clean clothes to change into. They nodded at each other and ran at the twins. The twins, taken aback at this sudden change of attitude, let out a yelp and disappeared, letting out a huge crack and causing Ron and Harry to run into each other.

"Gits," Ron muttered, but he stole a glance at Harry's chest anyway. Harry was looking scrawnier than usual, but this hadn't always been the case. Harry looked much thinner than he had at the beginning of the school year and wondered if he really had not been eating due to the stress he himself had caused.

Harry didn't notice Ron's stare, but looked around his bed, trying to find his shirt. They would look foolish, but what other choice did they have? Go to breakfast naked? Then he spotted both their trunks in the far corner of their bedroom. Dumbledore must have sent them after they'd left last night.

Both boys rummaged through their trunks, dressed, and made their beds in a rush then hurried downstairs where Fred, George, and Ginny were already eating. The deep scent of bacon, sausage, eggs, and potatoes wafted through the kitchen, and Harry caught Sirius looking anxiously into the air as though he were watching the aroma dance on the ceiling. Chortling to himself, again, he bet that Sirius didn't get his home to smell like this very often and looked pleased to be standing amidst such a lively meal.

"It's about time," Mrs. Weasley huffed. "I was about to send Kreature up after you." Ron and Harry stole a glance at each other, shuddering simultaneously at the thought of the mangy house elf waking them up. Who knew what awful technique Kreature would use to awaken them, since the house elf was not very kind in the first place. The poor thing walked around in a loin cloth, muttering loudly to himself in the third person, not caring who heard him or who he insulted.

The door opened ahead of them and Harry glanced up to see Mad Eye Moody, Remus Lupin, and Tonks walk into the house, all looking exasperatingly relieved. The Weasley children, Harry, Sirius, and Mrs. Weasley welcomed them and Mrs. Weasley promptly began retrieving extra place settings for them. Mad Eye downright refused, reassuring Molly that he had just eaten, but Lupin and Tonks graciously accepting, pulling up seats between Fred and Ginny.

Soon, the Weasleys, Harry, and Sirius were updated with news from St. Mungos, hellos and thank yous from Mr. Weasley, and other Ministry of Magic info, as Tonks and Lupin animatedly told them all of finding Mr. Weasley, although neither of them were actually present at the rescue. Moody stood by silently, smiling at their accurate depiction of the event, once or twice adding a word in to correct or to emphasize points they had not hit firmly. Overall, they received shocked gasps from each of their audience, aside from Harry. Harry remained sullen, unimpressed by the tale, almost repulsed that his dream could have been so accurate and so real to people other than himself.

Lupin and Moody noticed this, and after the story was over, and the Weasley children retreated to their bedrooms when they caught on that the adults wanted to talk to Harry. Harry told Ron he'd be up shortly, and Ron reluctantly followed his siblings up the stairs.

"I know you've probably been asked to retell your dream a dozen times, Harry," Lupin said, with a grimace of regret for what he was about to say, "but I must say it would be truly appreciated if Moody, Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, and I could hear it." Sirius moved from his spot in the living room to the kitchen, where he conjured a seat and placed it across from his godson.

Harry sighed, he knew this was coming and was ready for it. If he were to tell anyone else, he wished it to be them. They were the ones who could do something about it. Telling it to Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny was awkward because it was almost like telling them a story, but telling it to the grownups was like feeding them inside information to a man, or whatever Voldemort was called now, that he desperately wanted to defeat. So he took a deep breath and began his story, it wasn't a very long dream, now that he had told it a good four times, but it was menacing. He found it difficult to explain to the adults that he in fact had been the snake in his dream, but proceeded with explicit detail the way in which the snake tortured Mr. Weasley, forcing himself to ignore the tears and gasps of Mrs. Weasley, who was clearly having a fit over the depiction.

When he finally finished, which was a good ten minutes because he had squeezed in a little more detail than when he had told his friends. The adults nodded in contemplation, Moody's magical eye bearing into his head as though it were flipping through pages in a book, and Lupin eyeing him with soft eyes, but very understanding and concerned as though Harry were ill. Tonks did not look at him at all, she was, rather, consoling Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to be regaining her composition as the moments passed since Harry had finished talking.

Before anyone could say anything in response, they turned in surprise as the door behind them opened. Harry's heart sank to the bottommost of his toes as white-hot hatred rushed to his ears. It was Snape. It still bothered him most profusely that the man was in the Order, as though he expected him to betray the lot of them at any moment.

Harry felt relieved to know that he wasn't the only one surprised to see Snape. Lupin's eyebrows raised, almost eliminating any presence of a forehead, and Sirius growled, covering up the sneer with a cough. Snape walked in, turning hisback to the door and sealing the locks as they closed.

He turned to face the group of people in the room and scowled. "What the ruddy hell are you doing here?" Sirius asked, with the same deep scowl as Snape's.

Snape cast a sneering glance at Sirius, but refocused his gaze upon Harry. "I can't be long, I will be missed. Professor Umbridge is holding a conference," his scowl deepened at the name of the horrible new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. "As it is so, Professor Dumbledore wishes you to take private Occlumency lessons from me next semester, Potter," he pulled a book from inside his cloak and shoved it across the table towards Harry. Harry picked it up and read _Occlumency_, which was printed in dark red letters across the front. It was a smaller book, and nothing like any of his other textbooks. "He wishes you to read this book as soon as possible and be in my office at 6 a.m. Monday morning, before breakfast, when you come back next term."

"Why from you?" Moody asked gruffily.

Snape didn't look at Moody, always ever afraid of that magical eye of his, but glanced at the floor at Moody's feet. "Perhaps you'd agree that Dumbledore has his reasons, I'm sure you've heard Potter's dream by now." And without the slightest wave, he unlocked the door and left within seconds.

Harry stared at the door by which Snape had just come and gone within a matter of five minutes, and was only jarred from his trance by the sound of Sirius's growl. "Merry Christmas, Harry," he said, sneering at the door as well. "Hope you're surprised." Harry looked up in horror, but noted the sarcasm in Sirius' scowl.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching for the refrigerator, "why don't you go on and join Ron in your room." She pulled a couple Butterbeers from the fridge and handed them to him. "I think everyone should take the day rather easy since yesterday was so excitable."

Harry nodded, took the Butterbeers, and hurried to his and Ron's room, listening as a hushed discussion behind him as the adults took advantage of his absence. The book Snape had given him was still grasped in his hand, and before he opened the door to his room, he opened it. As he did so, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. He bent over and picked it up. There was only a line, a sentence, but the handwriting was unmistakable. _This is important, dwell on every word with deep consideration._

He opened the door and walked in to the room, Ron looked up at Harry's entrance and noticed at once the ruffled expression stretching across his face.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked, as Harry sat down on his own bed and handed him a butterbeer. He took it, opening it at once and taking a swig.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but when he spoke his voice was surprisingly strong. "Snape was just here, and I'm to take Occlumency lessons next term with him." He watched Ron's face change from concern to disgust.

"Isn't that the ticket," he grumbled. "Lessons with Snape. What the heck is Occlumency, anyway?"

Harry shook his head, "I have no idea. But he said Dumbledore wants me to read this book." He handed the book to Ron, who took it and opened it immediately. "There was also a note from Dumbledore," he lifted the note up and read. "This is important, dwell on every word with deep consideration."

Ron looked up from the book, his brow furrowed. "What does that mean?" he asked.

Once again, Harry was at a loss for words. "I wish Snape, or any of the adults, would have told me a bit more. Snape came in and left all within two or three minutes. He didn't even explain."

Ron scowled. "Here, listen to this," he said, obviously reading something out of the book: "Occlumency is the obscure branch of magic that deals with protecting one's mind against external penetration of an experienced Legilimens." He paused and looked up. "I remember dad talking about Legilimency. He says someone who can use Legilimency can break into your mind and literally watch your greatest fears, your worst memories. Do you think Dumbledore knows why you had this dream?"

Harry considered this, it made sense. Dumbledore didn't seem the slightest bit surprised that he Harry had the dream, clearly not taking the surprised reaction as he had received from the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. "It seems so," he said finally, looking back at Ron. "Maybe Occlumency will stop me from seeing through the snake. External penetration, though, do you think Lord Voldemort is possessing me?"

Ron winced, but held his gaze. "I dunno, you should ask Ginny. Maybe she had these dreams too when Tom Riddle possessed her in the diary," Ron suggested. "But I don't think he's possessing you, I mean, your scar hurts all the time and he doesn't possess you then. Maybe…gosh, we could really use Hermione's help about now." Harry flushed, but Ron smiled. "Hey, its okay, really. I've been thinking about it even more," he said, sitting up a bit straighter in his bed, "and I feel really foolish about the way I've been acting this past month. Feelings are feelings and, I might even go as far to say that you and Hermione have always gotten along a lot better than she and I have. Maybe this will help me to get along a bit better with her." His face brightened. "I sent Errol with a letter to her as soon as I got back here and invited her to spend Christmas with us, Mum said it was okay."

A rush of excitement spread throughout Harry's body. The wave of extreme uneasiness he had felt ever since Snape had arrived vanished and he suddenly felt as though the world was right again. There was no Voldemort, there was no Umbridge, there was just him and Ron and Hermione, that's all he needed. Now that he had his best friend back, he knew there was nothing Snape threw at him that he couldn't handle.

They discarded the book to the table between their beds, deciding that they would wait for Hermione to arrive before discussing it further, but Harry had an aching to read it, which he could not explain. Dumbledore was entrusting him with something he was sure would help him, perhaps it would keep his scar from hurting. External penetration…it still seemed unlikely, but Dumbledore knew what he was talking about.

He pushed it from his mind and forced himself to enjoy the butterbeers Mrs. Weasley had given them while they flipped through their own Quidditch books and discuss tactics. Harry had been kicked off the Gryffindor team, banished for eternity (although it still stuck in the back of his mind the pleasantry of the cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts position, it wouldn't be long until Umbridge was gone), but that didn't keep him from giving Ron pointers and suggestions for Angelina. He'd consequently gone to matches with Hermione since he'd been booted, simply to watch Ron.

Ron was amused by how much Harry knew, and asked him jokingly about it. For just about everything Ron asked about the month they'd been apart, Harry had an answer that was nowhere near as dumb as he had assumed, or evidently expected.

Harry sighed, "When your best friend is Hermione for a month, not to mention your girlfriend, you spend a lot of time in the library." Ron smirked at him, and Harry lowered his voice. "I also felt guilty parading her around in front of you, so I didn't argue when she hinted that she wanted to go."

Ron nodded, "I appreciate that, mate. Although, I don't really think it would have made a difference. I was pretty set on ignoring that fact."

Harry enjoyed how easy it was to talk about Hermione with him now. He couldn't detect a single bit of resentment in his voice, and after a bit more on the subject specifically relating Hermione as Harry's girlfriend, Harry thought Ron almost sounded amused by it. This was certainly a change, Harry had thought, but he was overjoyed.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione arrived the following day, and to Harry's surprise, was welcomed warmly, even from Mrs. Weasley who had nearly sent her a howler last year when the Daily Prophet suggested she and Harry were an item. Ginny, whom Harry had not understood from the beginning, even seemed to be enjoying her company. Altogether, the idea that Harry and Hermione were dating seemed to amuse everyone and brought them all to higher spirits, especially Sirius. As the adults conjured up Christmas decorations with amazing brilliance, Sirius seemed to show the most holiday spirit out of all of them.

"You know," Sirius had told Harry at one point, when they were stringing up a line of tinsel above the fireplace away from the others, "your mother and father met at Hogwarts." He winked at Harry, and laughed at the sudden fear that shot across his face. "Oh come now," Sirius said with a laugh, "I wouldn't worry about marriage quite yet."

Harry smirked. "Did you ever think about getting married, Sirius?"

Sirius frowned, pinning the last of his end of the tinsel. "Well, considering I wasted about twelve years in Azkaban…"

"I mean before that," Harry said quickly, realizing, guiltily, that he could've touched upon a very uncomfortable topic.

Sirius smiled, "There was this one girl in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class, seventh year. She was a Slytherin, and I believe she's in Azkaban now, too." His eyes twinkled, and Harry knew that his godfather was playing with him. "Truth is, Harry, your parents were so in love, it seemed to make up for whatever I didn't have. Somehow I knew that if I could find a girl that would have me, I would never be able to love her as much as your father loved your mother. I can't count the number of years it took him to get her to go out with him, but he never gave up." He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled broadly. "Nothing I could compete with, and with James it was always about competition, and certainly love was his number one subject."

Harry felt a twinge of ecstasy rush through him at the sound of Sirius' words. It was comforting to know that about his parents. Every time Sirius let something else out about his folks, Harry would consume it with large amounts of energy and dwell on the only memory he had of them, which wasn't saying much. But he found it extremely relieving to know his parents were centered.

As Sirius left the fireplace, Harry remained still, staring up into the only still portrait he'd seen thus far in the wizarding world. It was an eerie sort, painted to create the illusion that the man was watching the looker at any point of the room, as though the eyes moved, watching. But Harry was certain the man was 100 immobile. It made Harry think of the Mona Lisa, the Muggle painting by Leonardo da Vinci, that hung in Aunt Marge's living room, but it seemed even creepier than that.

Harry was under the impression that it was only Sirius and himself left on the main floor, but was almost surprised when he found Hermione was still there too. He had just seated himself in the big red, velvet chair in front of the fire, staring lazily into its attractive flames, when he felt soft, warm fingers brush the back of his head and a body flop gently onto his lap.

Hermione grinned and handed him a Butterbeer as she positioned herself comfortably on his lap. They had not had the chance to be alone in the couple days since she had arrived, and he readily welcomed the interruption of his thoughts. She leaned upwards and gave him a kiss, then rested her head against his shoulder. They sat in silence for several minutes. Harry occasionally taking a swig out of his Butterbeer, and his other hand, the arm trapped under Hermione, played with her soft hair.

After a couple moments, Harry realized she was tugging on the neckline of her sweater, a frown flittering across her face. She sighed, softly, but Harry could tell it was intending to be much louder.

"What is it?" he asked.

Hermione looked up, only giving him a half smile. "Nothing really," she said, which Harry deduced was untrue. She moved the hand that had been playing with her sweatshirt to his hand that was on her lap.

"Come on," he said, "you can tell me. I know you're lying."

She sighed again and looked into the fireplace. "It's nothing, really, honestly," she insisted, "but about a month ago…my necklace disappeared. I must have dropped it, or something, but I cannot for the life of me find it." She looked back at him. "My grandmother gave it to me for my tenth birthday. When I went home before coming here, I found out that she had a stroke…I don't know, it just made me think of how much I miss it."

Harry frowned. "What did it look like?"

A light seemed to flicker on behind Hermione's eyes. "It was beautiful, Harry," she said, a smile returning to her face, "it was gold and had a kind of thin gold plate between the links of the chain with my initials."

Harry smiled, then laughed. "And you're telling me you lost it?"

"Don't laugh, Harry! It meant a lot to me," Hermione said, frowning again.

"No, no," Harry said, still smiling, "its just…I found one the day after the thunderstorm. After we left breakfast that morning." He paused. "Your initials are HJG, then? What's your middle name?"

Hermione sat straight up and Harry winced as the bones of her butt dug into his thighs. "You found it?" she exclaimed. "Oh, Harry! I can't believe it! Where is it, now?"

Harry thought for a moment, briefly forgetting where he had put it. "I think it's in my trunk, in one of the little pockets in the lid. I'll look for it later. Otherwise it's in my bedside drawer at Hogwarts."

"Did you not think to ask anyone if they'd lost it?" Hermione said, a bit outlandishly.

"I guess I just thought that I would catch wind of it if anyone had lost one," he said, defensively. "Why am I only hearing about this now?"

Hermione laid back down on his shoulder and shrugged. "I thought I had misplaced it," she said, "thought it would turn up." She was quiet for a minute. "Jane, my middle name is Jane after my grandmother."

Harry smiled. "Hermione Jane Granger," he said quietly. "I think I can live with that." She slapped his chest, but he could tell she was smiling.

They fell into silence again, Hermione playing with the sleeve of his sweater.

"Its amazing how well Ron came around, isn't it?" Hermione said, with a smile, breaking the silence. "I can't believe we thought we'd lost him for a bit."

Harry nodded. "All it takes is a crisis to pull friends together."

"I read that Occlumency book Dumbledore gave you last night," Hermione said, changing the topic very quickly, as though she had just thought of it. "I think it is going to be really useful. It sounds to me as though Voldemort really is trying to penetrate your mind." Harry stayed silent, Hermione's wisdom on this issue was what he needed, but he silently wished Ron was there to hear it as well. "Have you read it yet?" she asked.

"No, but it certainly intrigues me," Harry said. "Ron and I agreed that we should wait for you to divulge your wisdom on us before we came to any conclusions on what Voldemort may or may not be doing."

Hermione giggled, "Oh come on, after spending a month with me in the library your first instinct _wasn't_ to read the book immediately? Have I taught you nothing?"

"Oh, I've learned plenty with you, believe me," he said with a smile. "As far as girlfriends go, however," he said, lowering his voice as though they were going to be overheard, "it is quite disappointing that we actually went to the library to study. That place is all privacy. Imagine the possibilities!" She giggled.

"But I do have a surprise, at the next DA meeting," Harry added.

Hermione's face brightened, "Oooh, what is it? Can you tell me?"

Harry shook his head again, "Nope, you're going to have to wait. Besides, we can't do magic outside of school." He bent down and kissed her, and she laughed softly into the kiss. "But I think even you'll be impressed," he said when he pulled away, "something I did learn while I was in the library with you!"

They spent another half hour in front of the fire before the people downstairs came up, and had a laugh at their cuddling on the couch. Mrs. Weasley fussed over Ron's hair before whooshing all the children off to bed. They all went willingly, but when they reached Ron and Harry's room, all glanced down the stairs to ensure that Mrs. Weasley wasn't watching and hurried inside.

Fred and George pulled up chairs and leaned them against the wall, looking as lazy as ever, but Ginny sat on Ron's bed while Harry sat on his own bed, against the wall, and Hermione climbed up next to him and leaned on him. Ginny didn't look at either of them, and picked up the book that had returned to the table between the beds.

"Tell us what Snape said, Harry," Fred said.

"Yes, what exactly is Occlumency?" Ginny asked, still holding the book.

"It's the art of closing one's mind to external penetration," Hermione said, without the slightest hesitation. "Those Wizards capable of performing Legilimency can provoke memories feared by the weak and unprotected minds of those whom they need information from. It's not mind reading, rather, memory reading. But I don't suppose Voldemort is reading your memories yet, or you would have known."

"How?" Harry asked, trying not to sound indignant.

Hermione sighed, "Well, when he preformed Legilimency you would relive your worst memories most nearest the front of your mind. Can you recall your worst memories at any time in your dreams?" Harry's brow furrowed as he thought, the only dream he could remember within the past several months was the one he just had a couple nights ago about Mr. Weasley, and the same wretched dream with him running down an empty corridor.

"That's right!" Ron said, excitedly. "Ginny, we wanted to ask you, if Dumbledore thinks Harry's being possessed by you-know-who, how would he know?"

For the first time, Ginny looked up at Harry, her eyes wide with horror. "Well, first, I would find myself in random places, as if I had just woken from a trance. I wouldn't know what I was doing for hours at a time."

Harry thought hard. "No, I'm well aware of everything I've been doing. Only while I'm asleep do I get any visions or my scar really hurts."

"That makes perfect sense. You aren't being possessed…" Hermione started, but she was cut off by George.

"His mind is being penetrated, we know!" George said.

"No, you nitwit," Ginny said in a huff. "Its not just that." She looked at Hermione, with amazement in her eyes. "Legilimancy can't be performed when two people are in different locations, can it?" She paused. "Do you mean to say that Harry's scar is some sort of link between their minds? Harry and you-know-who's?" Hermione shrugged and nodded.

Both Fred and George's chairs clunked noisily to the ground. "So Harry seeing through the eyes of the snake was actually you-know-who?" George asked, exchanging an awestruck look with his twin.

"Isn't Occlumency something we all should be learning? That's a defense against the dark arts, isn't it?" Fred said hastily.

Hermione nodded, "That's exactly what I think. Although it doesn't sound like Snape thinks its necessary to keep what they're doing a secret, I think we all can agree that it is an unspoken agreement. If Professor Umbridge found out that Dumbledore was permitting such a branch of magic to be taught, the ministry would have a field day."

"To hell with Umbridge," Ron said, very sour. "If we've got to learn it, then we've got to learn it. You will teach us, won't you Harry?"

Harry shrugged, "I haven't even gone to a lesson yet. Besides, I don't know the first thing about Legilimency and I highly doubt Snape is going to teach me that. Wouldn't he love me climbing into _his_ mind."

"What did Snape say?" Fred urged, repeating his questions from minutes before.

"Not a whole lot," Harry admitted. "He walked in, said Dumbledore wished me to take private Occlumency lessons with him next turn, gave me a book and told me to be in his office at 6 a.m. Monday morning."

"Why doesn't Dumbledore just give them to you himself?" Ron asked glumly.

"My theory," Hermione said, before Harry could reply, "is that, well, we know that Dumbledore is the only one Voldemort fears, right? So obviously, when Harry catches his eye, his eyes are like a seeing glass, and Voldemort can sort of see through them, if that's what his scar and Legilimency have done in the first place."

Harry's muscles tightened, "I'm the weapon…" he murmured, just under his breath so that only Hermione and Ginny could hear him.

Ginny looked up from the book she was paging through and scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, you can't be a weapon if you're fighting against him, can you?"

"If my eyes are like seeing glasses, then he could be watching everything I do right now!" He felt himself get up off his bed, letting Hermione clunk against the headboard. She reached for his arm but he was already out of reach. He paced the floor for several minutes, while the others looked at each other helplessly, completely unsure of what to tell him.

Then he stopped pacing and looked at his trunk, clothes strewn all over it. He walked up to it, shoved the clothes back inside and clamped it shut. "I need to leave! I'm putting you all in danger!"

Ron jumped to his feet and raced to the door and put his arms out to stop Harry's rash decision. "Don't be a git!" he said sternly.

"Harry, did you not hear anything I just said?" Hermione said, also getting to her feet. "You aren't a seeing glass in that aspect. Legilimency forces you to relive your most feared moments in your mind, causing the Legilimens to see it too, but your scar has done more than forge a gap between your mind and his." She walked over and stood by Ron, crossing your arms. "For years your scar has hurt when Voldemort is near you, or growing stronger, so now I think Dumbledore fears that a combination between your scar and the Voldemort's…whatever…is causing you to _share_ some of his hatred for Dumbledore."

"Oh come off it," George said, he and Fred getting to their feet as well. "Harry doesn't hate Dumbledore! He's Dumbledore's favorite student!"

Hermione threw up her hands. "You aren't listening! Of course Harry doesn't hate Dumbledore, but when his eyes and Dumbledore's eyes meet, Lord Voldemort's hatred is so strong towards our headmaster that it would cause Harry to feel the same way. External penetration! Come on, tell me you're getting this." Harry didn't feel any better, he still felt as though he was the reason Mr. Weasley had been attacked. "Come on, we'd all better get some sleep. It's Christmas Eve, the adults will want to make sure everything is perfect." She nodded to Ginny, and to Harry's surprise, Ginny grinned and followed her out the door.

Fred and George crossed their arms. "Well, I still think we all should learn it," Fred said with a huff. Then, two loud cracks later, both Fred and George disappeared.

Ron pulled Harry's trunk from his hands, for Harry was still clutching the handle as though he were going to bolt at any moment. "If there's one thing I do know," Ron said, pulling Harry's trunk to the end of his bed, "it's that we need you enough to risk you being a seeing glass. Even if he's watching everything we're doing now, Occlumency lessons will stop it. Besides, what would the DA do without you? Kristopher says you're better than any other defense teacher he's had, and I'd agree. The only teacher we learned a lick from was a death eater impersonating an aurora."

Reluctantly, Harry relented and walked back over to his bed. Ron sat down on his own across from him, looking at him intently. "Out of curiosity, what do you have planned for next term?"

Harry looked up, grinning slightly. He loved the DA so much that there wasn't much he could talk about that wouldn't lift his spirits. "I wanted to tell you this, actually," he said, glancing quickly at the door to ensure it was closed. "I wouldn't tell Hermione, because it's supposed to be a surprise for the whole group."

Ron's face brightened more than it had in ages, and Harry smiled. "What is it, then?" Ron asked eagerly.

"I can't show you now, because we can't do magic outside of school," he said, playing off of Ron's eagerness. "But I…I created a spell."

"A what?" Ron asked, his eyes widening and looking utterly impressed.

"A spell, you know, like a protection. Protego, expecto patronus, you know, a defense against curses," Harry continued, trying his best to explain.

Ron's gasped. "No way! That's…wow!" his smile broadened, if that were possible. "And you're going to show us at a meeting?"

Harry nodded, smiling. "That's not all I have planned, either. Also in the library I was reading up on unspoken magic, you know, the ability to curse and hex silently. Most experienced Wizards, older ones, can do it too, and we're supposed to learn it sixth year. But everyone is getting so good that I think we're ready to begin."

Occlumency

_As one of the most useful defenses against the dark arts, and against those who wish to penetrate a vulnerable mind in order to further their understanding of a circumstance, Occlumency stands as the oldest technique of accomplishing such tasks. _

_Occlumency is used to close one's mind to external penetration, particularly to a wizard skilled in the art of Legilimency. As it stands, Legilimency only works on a weak mind that tends to dwell on fear, pain and strong emotions that easily bring memories of one's past to mind. Occlumency was designed in order to resist a wizard's penetration, the highest and most useful defense against dark arts._

_Before we get in to practicing Occlumency, or really delving into its basics, it is important to understand how to identify if one's mind is being penetrated. Whether or not, in the heat of your defense, you are correct that the wizard opposing you is using Legilimency, Occlumency is not something that can be used at an inappropriate time. Occlumency is a convenient art to learn for any occasion, particularly when morale is low and dark wizards are common in the age, there is no wrong time to practice Occlumency._

_There is no way to guarantee your accuracy in determining whether or not your opponent is practicing Legilimency on you, but it isn't hard to know exactly when it happens. In the occasion that you are confronted with a wizard you know to be skilled in Legilimency, you may feel as though you are being x-rayed, for one, his or her eyes narrow and you get a sensation that they are seeing more than you are telling them. But that is based purely off of instinct and generally inaccurate, especially if the wizard is very skilled in this art. The less skilled the wizard gets, the easier it is to sense the penetration, you often feel a particular memory come to mind, a particular object, emotion, or fact that has a clearly defined image._

_The most misconceived aspect of Occlumency is defining it as a form of mind-reading. This is very untrue; mind-reading is but a silly form of Muggle fantasy. Occlumency requires a Legilimens to be able to correctly interpret images through the vivid penetration of another's mind and can only be accomplished if the person is able to control their emotions. You will find that those wizards most skilled in Occlumency rarely show how they truly feel in their reactions, as it is possible in most individuals. Consider feeling angry, how, upon first instinct, you may wish to curse someone until their nose bleeds. A person practicing Occlumency would not react in this way and you would be unable to determine how they took criticism, for example._

_Another aspect of Occlumency to consider is that it is not something that can just happen, it takes dutiful determination and constant practice, always in the mind-set that no matter how strongly you wish to react to someone, it is more important to keep yourself together than to retaliate. Do not let curiosity get the better of you and do not wear your emotions on your sleeve. This is to say, if someone can correctly interpret how you react to something, you are not accomplishing Occlumency. Yet._

_To efficiently practice Occlumency may take a series of weeks, identifying which situations provoke the most emotion in yourself and learning how to avoid serious reactions. Now, we can summarize how best to tackle Occlumency._

_As we've already covered, Occlumency is the magical defense of the mind against external penetration, an obscure branch of magic but highly useful in order to efficiently seal the mind against the intrusion of a wizard practicing Legilimency. In order to accomplish this it is necessary to empty oneself of emotion, particularly at times when the mind is most vulnerable, such as before going to sleep. Focusing on nothing but serenity and peace of mind can do this best, but it takes more, it takes a determination and a drive to seal the mind, to let criticism bounce off and relent to peace of mind. Allowing oneself to be easily provoked is dangerous and will lead to emotions that recall memories of one's past, particularly when that same emotion was felt. _

_For instance, when an extreme wave of hatred is provoked, the memories of the times in one's past when they felt the same degree of hatred will be recalled to mind, whether the individual consciously recognizes each memory or not. A Legilimens would be able to see these emotions if he or she would choose to utilize the skill at this point. _

_To successfully allow oneself to react calmly and, most importantly, rationally, Occlumency is better achieved. Unfortunately, this is not all that is required in order to seal one's mind. The majority of it is practicing to control one's emotions, but the cap to cover the head is to practice sincerity. Particularly in the case of defending oneself against a dark lord, lying might be essential to conceal the whereabouts of an individual or individuals the dark lord is pursuing and although one may have been practicing to keep their emotions undetectable, the Legilimens may be able to sense insincerity if it is done improperly. _

_Features of sincerity include eye contact, which is particularly difficult because it is essential for the Legilimens to successful use Legilimency, face-to-face contact, and other aspect of normal lying (take, for instance, how one would lie to a teacher about a late homework assignment, fighting to maintain a straight face). _

_Basic, elementary Occlumency deals with subduing one's emotions, as is what we've just covered, but more advanced Occlumency deals with replacing memories that should have been provoked by a given emotion with other memories, real or fake, in order to mislead the Legilimens. It allows the Occlumens, the individual practicing Occlumency, to lie without self-betrayal, or giving themselves away. We will get into more of how this is done in later chapters._

_To conclude this first chapter, let us end with this: if you, the aspiring Occlumens, wishes to guard yourself and the ones you care about against evil forces, it is absolutely vital that you take every aspect of this book seriously. Occlumency doesn't work if the practitioner does not apply the rules at every stage of every day. Of course this does not mean you can't show pleasure when you absolutely feel it, but it does mean that restricting yourself to a clean slate, so to speak, is most important when you are alone or otherwise vulnerable to others. If practiced correctly, Occlumency has proved to be efficient when the Occlumens can remain indifferent in all situations. This not only results in an efficient Occlumens, but also a better stress rate for all individuals; a self-analysis of before and after a wizard has accomplished Occlumency will show that the individual's health has increased and is able to maintain a more consistent mood, resulting in less stress and better performance in all aspects of the day. Giving into stress can be very easy, but if one searches for other ways to relieve stress than to allow it to provoke emotion, such as doing something one thoroughly enjoys, it always proves to be healthier for the individual. This book will not cover such things as stress relievers, but before any more of this book is read it is important that you, the reader, understand that even something as minute as stress can be cause for penetration. _

_So start now, clear your mind and wash thought emotion from your head and begin the journey to be an accomplished Occlumens._

Harry put the book down. _So this is Occlumency_, he thought. Was it anything he expected, he did not know. Hermione's definition didn't make a whole lot of sense, but she had clearly read and understood the book, and now he was beginning to as well.

In the bed next to him, Ron let out a huge snore, startling Harry and whipping him back to his senses.

He was sure Dumbledore meant for him to begin applying the features of Occlumency immediately, the book had even indicated that it was particularly important to clear one's mind before going to sleep. _Obviously,_ he thought, _I can't control the dreams I have, and last time my mind was penetrated I learned an awful truth_. He hesitated, but wasn't the penetration the only way Mr. Weasley was spared? Wasn't _his_ penetration a good thing?

Harry mulled over this fact a while longer, debating himself, and Dumbledore's intentions for studying Occlumency. As much as he trusted Dumbledore's protection, and mind in general, he wasn't sure why Dumbledore didn't want him to help the Order. Certainly, if Mr. Weasley had been found dead in the Department of Magic there would be a serious inquiry as to his intentions.

_But that's not the point,_ Harry's mind raged on, _the people in the Order are risking their lives for others, they know the risk involved._ Maybe Dumbledore's intentions had more to do with his own protection than others, if Voldemort could provoke Harry enough, with the slightest implant of a horror, Harry might react to it wrongly and therefore give information to Voldemort that was crucial only to the survival of the Order. Perhaps Dumbledore believes that the adults know how to handle themselves, but Harry, although highly protected at most times, must do all he can to ensure that it isn't his dreams that give him away.

"If Dumbledore wants me to learn Occlumency, I'll learn it," he said aloud, then quickly slumped under his covers. Ron stirred next to him, but didn't seem to wake. _Alright,_ he thought, resisting the inclination to speak aloud this time, _I'll do it_.


	10. Chapter 10

The Christmas holiday passed too quickly for anyone's liking, most particularly, it seemed, Sirius. He was most curiously the life of the lot at number 12 for the week and a half they stayed. There were many times when it seemed to Harry that Sirius almost wished him to remain with him and not return to school, but Sirius insisted that he was alright and the most important thing was for him, Harry, to practice Occlumency and to take care of himself.

As the children were getting ready to leave the Saturday before classes begun for second term, Sirius pulled Harry aside and gave him a small artifact. "Here, I'd like you to have this. It's particularly special because it is the only way we can communicate without being detected." Harry's eyes widened and he took the object, wrapped in a mildly grubby handkerchief with the name _James_ woven into it. His heart leaped and he removed a mirror from inside, then held it up. "You see," Sirius continued, "when you look into it, you can't see yourself, but it alerts me and I can come speak to you. James, that is to say, your father, and I used to use them while we were in separate detentions. It was quite fun."

Harry looked up, speechless. "Sirius…" he glanced back down at the mirror-like glass, searching for words to describe how he was feeling. "I…this…wow!" He beamed up at Sirius, "So this means I can speak to you whenever I like?"

"Yes! And I you," Sirius beamed back, "there'll be no mistake when I wish to contact you, believe me, you'll know. I'm glad you like it! I do say we will have quite a good time with it, just as James and I did." And with his words, he wrapped an arm around Harry and gave him a squeeze. "I do miss you, young man, and before long I will be free, I can feel it, and I can finally remove you from that dreadful Muggle house." He quickly lowered his voice and glanced around at the others, who were fully consumed in saying their goodbyes to other people in the Order. "And maybe, while we're at it, we can curse 'em, just to get back at them for fifteen years of misery. I've got a good one for that fat cousin of yours." Harry laughed.

Ministry cars came to pick the children up, accompanied by Tonks and Mr. Weasley, the former to return to her post at Hogwarts. Mr. Weasley couldn't acquire enough cars to bring the lot of them, but the kids were pleased to get away from Mrs. Weasley, who was positively fussing about anything that could come to her mind. Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny squeezed into one car while Fred, George, Tonks and Mr. Weasley squeezed into the other, and before long they were on their way to the London Station to take the Hogwarts Express back to Hogwarts.

"There's going to be no one on the train!" Ron said gleefully. "No Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle to bother us."

"Maybe Luna will be aboard," Ginny said with a wink. Ron scowled, but a hint of a smirk crossed over his face. They were all becoming quite fond of Luna's dreamy, distant self, which either had grown on them or simply amused them. Regardless, she ended up making their time at the DA meetings much more enjoyable.

They all grew silent and listened to the rumble of the car, jolting along the road, dodging in and out of traffic. Mundungus wasn't the most brilliant driver they could have gotten, but he sure knew how to get from point A to point B quickly. It barely took fifteen minutes to get to the station, and with Tonks at the head and Mr. Weasley bustling along behind them, they hurried to Platform 9¾.

"Come, now," Mr. Weasley said in a huff, "we don't want to miss the train." The kids hurried, but tried not to attract attention at the same time, with everyone carrying their luggage it proved to be quite a challenge.

One-by-one they ran through the barrier, bringing them to the magnificent platform that held the Hogwarts express. By the desolate condition of the area, everyone realized that Ron was correct in saying that there was really going to be no one on the train.

"How can this be?" Hermione asked, looking very curious. "Just about everyone went home for the holidays, how is it that no one rides the train back?"

"Parents find that they prefer to bring their children back at their own convenience," Mr. Weasley said with a smile, "but I happen to know that the Hogwarts Express rivals Hogwarts itself in safety. There are an infinite amount of enchantments put on it." At his words, a loud whistle blew to signal last call. "Alright! Let's go, let's go! Have a great term, we'll be in touch!" Mr. Weasley hurried them on the train and stood with Tonks to wave them off.

"Bye Mr. Weasley!" Harry and Hermione shouted.

"Bye Dad!" shouted the twins, Ron, and Ginny.

"Take care, kids!" Tonks yelled, and the train took off from the depot, leaving Mr. Weasley and Tonks as only specks in the distance.

All six children crammed themselves into one compartment, stowing their luggage in the one next to it. They only ran into two people, who had been walking down the corridor, and had thus far seen no one else. The room fit them all quite nicely, and all were keen to spend time with one another before returning to school. There wasn't a lot they could talk about in front of the adults, since they knew, at least the Weasley children, that if the adults found out about their illegal DA meetings, they were sure to forbid them from holding anymore.

"I love my parents," Ron said, leaning his head back against the seat, "but sometimes it just gets to be too much. Mum is always fussing…" Harry looked down at the floor, embarrassed to admit that he enjoyed Mrs. Weasley's fussing, considering he never got any at the Dursley's. Ron noticed this and caught on quickly. "Believe me mate, after awhile, it does get to be too much." Ron smirked at him, and Harry knew he was right, but it didn't stop him from enjoying it while he could.

Hermione stood up suddenly and shut the door, then pulled out her wand and muttered, "Imperturbatus," then turned to face the stunned compartment.

"What're you going to do to us?" Fred asked, his mouth twitching, slightly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him. "There might be no one on the train, but we can't risk it." She didn't sit down, but stared at them all very seriously. "Now, listen, I had this idea. I know we're all taking defense lessons from Harry, and we're getting really good, but I've been researching something that I think could come in really helpful." She put a knee on the seat beside Harry, but kept herself more up off the seat. "I first got the idea our third year, after we talked to Lupin about his…condition, and I thought, if they can do it, why can't we?"

"What is it then?" George asked, exasperated, the rest nodded.

Hermione hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. "Well, I thought…" she let the air out, "I thought we could all become animagi." Every eye widened at her words, and Ginny's mouth even dropped.

"Are you, Hermione Granger, proposing that we do something _illegal_?" Ginny asked, completely baffled, but her words were hinting glee.

Ron scoffed, "Let's not forget the DA was her idea in the first place."

Hermione forced a smile, "Come on, think about it. That's how Sirius escaped from Azkaban in the first place. We can do it!"

"How…?" Harry asked, hesitantly, very curious, but very uncertain.

Hermione paused, grimaced, then before their very eyes emitted a small flash of light and transformed herself into a cat that could have passed for Crookshanks. Everyone gasped, and Ginny nearly screamed. Within several seconds, Hermione transformed back into herself and attempted a smile, but it only came out as a plead for understanding.

Ginny's mouth remained gaped open, "Do you realize how few witches and wizards can do that?"

Hermione nodded, "It is quite rare, but extremely possible, as I've just demonstrated. According to _Animagi and Their Flesh_, I believe I'm about the youngest witch to have accomplished it." Her cheeks flushed pink, but she sped on. "It only took me about three months to successfully transform, and surprisingly it doesn't do as much damage to your body if you don't do it correctly at first. The first time I tried it, I only sprouted whiskers and I had to go to Madame Pomphrey."

"Wasn't she curious at how you got them?" Harry asked, bemused.

Hermione nodded, "I told her it was an awful hex. But I kept reading and now," with another flash of light, she transformed herself into the ginger cat again. She hopped up between Ron and Harry and nuzzled herself into the narrow pocket of space.

Ron picked her up and stared into the cat Hermione's face. "You are absolutely insane. Positively…"

Harry took her from him and held her to his face as well. With one look at the cat, then the next at Ron, he said, "My girlfriend is a cat."

The room burst into laughter, Fred and George keeled over and even Ginny was slapping her knees. Harry felt that even Hermione, in cat-form, was shaking as if she could laugh, and a moment later Harry was holding Hermione under her arms and realized, as her small figure collapsed into his lap, that she had transformed yet again, and was positively laughing as hard as the rest of them. At her transformation, Ron started laughing harder and soon fell off the bench.

A knock on the door a couple moments later forced them all to subdue their laughing, even though most still had tears trickling down their cheeks. Harry stood up, setting Hermione, as her flesh, down on the bench next to Ron, and got up to open the door for the plump witch pushing the tea trolley.

The witch grinned at the sight of the children laughing, and asked pleasantly, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Harry grinned and pulled out some gold in his pocket. "What would you guys like? My treat!"

The occupants of the train compartment, together most likely making up more in one room than the rest of the train combined, munched happily on the treats Harry bought them. They were still laughing and joking about Hermione's miraculous transformation in their compartment after an hour, by which time Hermione became sick of the attention and attempted to refocus.

"So, not saying you have to, but if you all were to become Animagi, what do you think you would turn into?" she asked curiously.

The compartment grew silent, as they thought hard. The only sound that could be heard was the munching of the frog Ron was still eating.

"Well, my dad was a stag, and so is my patronus, so it would seem likely that's also what I would turn into," Harry reasoned. "But Sirius is a dog."

"Scabbers has left me scarred to rats forever," Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate frog, he shuddered. "Imagine carrying a rat around with you for more than three years and then finding out that the animal you let sleep with you and play with you was actually a murderous, death eater, animagus." He shuddered again.

Fred nodded, "That's disturbing."

George ginned, "Perhaps you will turn into a spider. Maybe then you can get rid of your fear." Ron turned pasty white and shook his head violently, words not coming to him.

Ginny scoffed, "Ron doesn't have a fear of spiders, he has a phobia." She shrugged, "I think I might be a cat as well, but I don't really know. How can we even be guessing?" Ginny asked, thoughtfully, turning her attention back to Hermione.

"Well, when I first started," Hermione said, repositioning herself between Ron and Harry on the bench, "I read that there's no way to change what you turn into, but the animal will probably resemble some of your own characteristics and traits."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "So your personality most resembles a cat?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Cats are loyal, smart, and can adapt very well in different environments. Plus they're loveable," she said, elbowing Harry in the ribs. Everyone laughed.

"I think I might have the most similar characteristics to an owl," Ginny said. For some reason, she cast a blushing look at Harry, who was still looking at Hermione thoughtfully. Hermione saw her glance, though, and cast the slightest glare at Ginny.

"Fred, George, what about you?" Hermione asked.

Fred shrugged, but had a broad grin, "It would be swell if we could manage identical Hungarian Hortails!" He and George exchanged excited glances and nodded at Harry, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement.

"Boys," Hermione said in a whiny, sing-song voice. "We're going for stealth here."

Excitement grew as they threw around ideas for each other, with suggestions from the most disgusting slug to the biggest elephant, each getting more and more crazy as suggestions flew. But after they had their fun with the suggestion of a house elf, Hermione cracked down on them and they became rather serious. The suggestions became more casual and realistic and, with Hermione's promise that she would only describe to them at a later time what exactly what went into an animagus transfiguration, they guessed Ginny to be an owl or a fox, Ron to be a common lizard, with bright red scales of course, and the twins, most likely, to become a sort of bug, like wrackspurts—Ginny had said this as a joke, but the twins actually took her seriously.

Eyes turned to Harry, as everyone else had come to a conclusion as to their own animagi alias. "Well, Harry?" Ron asked, nudging him in the side with his own elbow.

Harry looked up, carefully glancing at each of his friends. "Well, I was thinking, my dad was a stag, like I said, but I don't feel like I have that kind of…daredevilness that my father and Sirius had when they were students. I always seem to run headfirst into trouble, right? Well…what animal can cause the most trouble?" He paused, glancing around at the others to see if they were following him.

"A house elf?" Fred asked. There was a low chuckle of consent, though Hermione huffed silently.

Harry, smiling from Fred's comment, shook his head. "Well, in the Muggle world, at least, raccoons get into everything, garbage, lawns, you know. But in the wizarding world, it seems like wolves have that same trait. I guess it just depends if I'm more Muggle than Wizard, or vice versa."

Hermione slapped him on the back of the head. "Ow! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing the spot she hit.

Ginny scoffed. "Harry, don't be pathetic," she said, "the only reason you're the tiniest bit of a Muggle is because you live with those awful relatives of yours. Don't go thinking you'll turn into something because of those Muggles."

Ron nodded. "I think a wolf describes you best," he said. "But a raccoon would be sweet. There used to be a whole family of raccoons by our house when I was little that would come and chew on the gnomes. Don't know whatever happened to them…" he said, his voice trailing off.

"Okay, enough of this," Ginny said. "How is the Occlumency reading coming?"

Harry looked up from his intent, sensual focus of Hermione's hand on his knee. "Reading and practicing is one thing, I'm just nervous that it won't go so well with Snape performing Legilimency on me." Harry said with a shrug. "But otherwise, I haven't had another dream of the Department of Magic corridor since we left Hogwarts… for Christmas."

Glancing at her watch, Hermione looked to him and said, "We've got about an hour before we reach Hogwarts, why don't you read us the next chapter?"

Harry scrunched up his face, but was curious to find the rest of the group nodding. "You lot seriously want me to read to you?" he asked, slightly taken aback.

Ginny shrugged, "Sure, why not. We're all going to help you anyway." Harry raised an eyebrow and Ginny rolled her eyes. "You don't think we're gonna let you-know-who take you without a fight, do you? Isn't that what the DA is all about?"

"Yeah, mate," Ron joined in, "whether or not you teach us what Snape teaches you, we're still learning all this crap the Ministry doesn't want us to learn because we know you-know-who is at large again and, well, we're all terrified."

"Go on, Harry," Hermione urged. "Just read it, it'll help you get through the book faster."

Reluctantly, Harry pulled the book from out of the pocket in his robe and everyone rested back against their seats to listen to him read.

----------

_The idea of provocation and its futile ability to release hormones that recall certain memories has long stood as the basis for emotion. Misconceived and its works often misinterpreted they may well be, but it is just as commonly believed that a "good" emotion, such as joy, and a "bad" emotion, such as anger, are one and the same in the art of Occlumency. Just as one is able to recall a moment of pure ecstasy, such as one worthy to aide in conjuring a Patronus Charm, one is also able to recall a moment of pure hatred, both, in the case of Occlumency, can provide a Legilimens with the necessary information by means of their practice. _

_Stigmatic with its own series of bad connotations, anger, hatred, guilt, and fear all fall within the same categorical reference whilst regarding Occlumency. All, perhaps which most individuals are reluctant to admit are quite common inside one's own head, provoke memories along the same line, thus why they fall within the same category. Generally, the Legilimens attempting to access your mind is going to be doing so against one's own will, such as when a dark lord is in need of information from someone who's memory has been tampered with or when someone is incapable to speak, or even to the extent where the Legilimens requires information from an individual and this individual refuses to divulge. It is hardly necessary to note that without a little experience in Occlumency, this task is entirely possible and rather easy to a skilled Legilimens._

_Anger, hatred, guilt, and fear are all common emotions, and it should not be reckoned that to feel such things is against any moral standard, but they tend to provoke the most memories at any given time. Many Wizarding psychologists rack this up to an Intense Imagery Mark (IIM) in which the state and condition of a memory has been more deeply implanted into one's mind because of the intensity of the circumstance. Because of this, exhibiting these emotions makes an individual not only more vulnerable, but more dangerous to him or herself. By allowing this emotion to bring memories to the front of one's mind, one is allowing the Legilimens more access to whatever he or she is requiring._

_Studies gather that health rates are indeed higher, that is to say, superior, when the individual can associate their behavior to a rather consistent nature. This would include, naturally, being more consistent in one's mind, owing to peace and serenity and learning to deal with situations in a more detached manner. By discerning situations and coming to conclusions about the necessary intensity of one's reaction, an individual is better able to control his or her behavior more consistently and, ultimately, remain indifferent to those situations that do not require much attention._

_Most noticeable in young wizards, dueling, and the Muggle form of physical fighting, are both instances in which a Legilimens finds it easier to extract information. Part of human growth is learning to deal with situations more maturely, which is evident (in 9 out of 10 cases) as individuals grow up. However, many young wizards have an outstanding ability to remain unaffected by taunts and ridicule common to their age group, and their learning ability is nearly 30 higher than their classmates. Production rates in school work and accomplishment occur greatest in the older students simply because their maturity level, level of experience in the world, has increased every year as they are allowed access to more and more of the secrets of the Wizarding World. There are, of course, exceptions in all cases, but the ability to remain indifferent to provoking situations isn't innate, it's a learned, and entirely necessary, behavior. However, the sooner one learns to retain oneself from being provoked and lashing out with whichever form of retaliation they deem necessary, the more efficient they will be in everyday life._

_In Britain, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has its students take O.W.L.'s at the end of the 5__th__ year and enter into N.E.W.T. classes by the 6__th__ year. This method has been challenged by rivaling schools, particularly Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, which insist O.W.L.s shouldn't be given until the 6__th__ year. Statistics vary due to a variety of results, but stress levels seem to be about the same. This allows us to come to the conclusion that although stress is obviously universal, it is also entirely possible to be avoidable by taking certain steps and practicing certain behaviors that we won't bother to cover here. Most importantly, professors at each school attempt to teach their students, through distribution of homework, the vitality of the organization of time, which will come in handy as one grows older._

_An Occlumens best tackles the stigmatic emotion, that is, what we've just classified as a universally accepted "bad" emotion, by simply understanding that for one, these emotions are normal, and two, one's opponent who provokes the emotion is simply doing so to receive the emotion as an unspoken reward for any criticism he or she dishes out._

_To say these emotions are normal is an understatement. Without any statistical evidence, it is widely known that most people tend to let these emotions show more than others, particularly in regard to what was mentioned in Chapter One: the degree or intensity of a specific moment causes one to react stronger accordingly, this behavior is more often attributed to Stigmatic emotions._

_One's opponent provokes these stigmatic emotions in an individual primarily for the purpose of a reaction, or in the case of an Occlumens, attempting to recover information that can only be acquired through a given emotion. He or she has a fairly good chance of performing Legilimency when their opponent, namely yourself, permits the provocation. There is nothing more important while studying Occlumency than to "keep your cool"—if you cannot resist the urge to retaliate, no matter in which form it may come around, then you might as well stop reading. However, if you continue reading, realize this: however vital the soul is to the body for necessary means of survival (consider Dementors), it is also the first aspect of the full human to deceive oneself. Without first learning to keep one's emotions out of control, the rest of this book can do one no good, because, however simple this all may sound, the following chapters are incapable of being achieved if this practice isn't put into use. There are tasks one can accomplish only whilst one is in a state of mind that is both clear of emotion and is completely serene, that is, at peace._

_This portion of Occlumency often appears quite dull, but it is necessary to bring to an aspiring Occlumen's attention. If you've come this far then it is ridiculous to quit now, however, a teacher of the art may be required or useful at this point forward, for it is hard to put these things into practice without knowing if one is doing it effectively. Don't stop reading, but catch on to an instructor's hints and helps, understand that criticism is provocation and learn to destroy it as a weakness. If a Legilimens is practicing on you, be aware that he or she may well be capable to see memories from your past. It is best to prepare yourself before lessons, being sure to rid your mind of emotion, this most often can be achieved, while still early on in one's lessons, by maintaining a straight face at all times._


	11. Chapter 11

Harry waited for Hermione and Ron in the common room after he had his first Occlumency lesson with Snape, he was eager to relate all that had happened as they walked down to breakfast on the Monday morning of the first day of term.

It had been horrible, as Harry quickly described the events with Snape to Ron and Hermione before Kristopher had joined them at the foot of the stairs, but Snape had actually complemented him, or so Harry had interpreted it, by saying that although he Harry's mind was weak, his performance in the lesson was better than had been expected. Hermione had rubbed his temples for him, while Ron pointedly looked away, taking a sudden interest in a funny looking man in a nearby portrait, for Harry had been rubbing them himself, muttering at how straining Snape's relentless penetration to his mind had been.

"Every time he pointed his wand at me I remembered different scenes from my past, mostly with the Dursleys, and mostly Dudley beating me up when I was five or six," Harry said, when Hermione had finished rubbing his temples. "Then I would collapse on the floor and reawaken to Snape saying, 'Weak! Mr. Potter! You are astoundingly weak minded! Foolish to let someone see those memories!' Then he would ask me about each memory, when it happened, and stuff like that."

"You mean 'ol Snape got to see your cousin beating you up?" Ron asked, bewildered. "What does that mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, I don't understand it yet. But if it's the last thing I do, I will not let Snape continue to penetrate my mind! If a dimwit like him can do it, it's no wonder Voldemort can." Ron shuddered at the name.

But Harry didn't get many words in before Kristopher joined them, looking thoroughly confused as to why Ron was enjoying the company of his two former, now present once again, best friends. Kristopher had returned to Hogwarts late last night, so he hadn't been aware of any new bonds between them, as many of the Gryffindors had already noticed, and were greatly relieved to witness. Ron had even apologized to Neville, who looked extremely taken aback, but accepted his apology and told him that didn't mind his new bed.

Kristopher raised an eyebrow, looking from Harry to Ron. "I see you boys have patched things up, eh?" he said, taking in the boys nods and smiles—Ron's more friendly than Harry's. "I always thought it was a bit dim of you Ron to get upset with your best friends over a girl," he continued, "but then again, seeing as you have two best friends, and they hooked up together…I can totally see why you've forgiven them."

Ron turned to him and began talking, trying to explain, but Harry and Hermione looked at each other curiously. Had Kristopher been the one keeping Ron from forgiving them this whole time? Hermione's eyes went up and down, and then she scrunched her forehead, which Harry took to mean, _We'll talk about this later without them._

As the foursome traveled down the Gryffindor table to an open spot that would fit the lot of them, many heads turned and whispered, even pointing in their direction. Harry and Hermione sat across from Kristopher and Ron, both immediately began scooping food onto their plates. Harry reckoned he'd never felt hungrier, the lessons with Snape had been dreadful and left him with a sunken feeling in the pit of his stomach that felt as though he could try and try for years to fill the spot with food and it would never completely heal over.

Ron scooped food onto his own plate as well, hurriedly as though he'd been starved for days, but Kristopher seemed to be taking things a little slower. He took a muffin from a nearby basket and a butterknife, clearly taking his spreading seriously. Ron looked up at him from a mouthful of scrambled eggs and gave him a quizzical look.

"Just like that?" Kristopher asked distastefully, reawakening the subject again. "You forgive them for hooking up…just like that?" Harry looked up from his food and felt Hermione tense up, even though she didn't look up from her food, or what she rather seemed to be taking a great interest to under the table.

If Ron hadn't been chewing more than was necessary to speak without spitting food, his mouth would have dropped, but he quickly chewed, which wasn't so quickly, and gulped as much as he could down, which appeared to be quite painful.

"Aw, come off it, you don't know the whole story," he took a swig of his pumpkin juice, the painful twinge in his face disappearing. "Besides," he grinned at Harry, "the more I think about it, the more I reckon that they were pretty much dating for the last couple years anyway." He paused, then continued, slowly, "Without all the…snogging, of course. But no matter," he paused again to wink at Harry, "we've got it all sorted out. If they want some time alone, Harry gives me a look, and when he wants to kiss her, he gives me another look."

Hermione's head shot up from the book she had been attempting to conceal under the table and glanced somewhat frantically from Harry to Ron, and then back to Harry. "Look? You share a look when you want to kiss me? That's absurd!" she scoffed and took a bite of her own biscuit. "Show me, what's the look?" she demanded.

Harry smiled at her, then said, "Fine, but you won't get it." He nodded at her, then looked at Ron. "Which one was that?" he asked Ron. Hermione's brow furrowed, she obviously couldn't tell anything from the "look" Harry had given Ron.

Ron sighed, "Too easy. You want to kiss her. Go on, then." He turned his head down and pretended to look into his bag at his feet.

Harry leaned over towards Hermione, but she put her hands on his chest to prevent him. "I didn't see it! Do it again." She leaned across the table to stare into Harry's face as both Harry and Ron shrugged, and Harry looked at Ron again.

"Oh come now," Ron said, "you're going to confuse her. Besides, I can't leave now, I haven't finished my breakfast." There was a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Hermione's face went pink. "You boys are so ridiculous. Ron, you can't possibly decipher what Harry is saying…he's not doing anything!"

Ron sighed, faking an impatient drawl, he said, "Hermione, you're a _girl_, of course you're not going to understand. Harry just gave me two very distinct looks which I interpreted perfectly, didn't I, mate?" He grinned, and Harry nodded, grinning back. "See!"

Hermione shook her head and looked down at her book. "I am thoroughly confused, but obviously I can't do anything about it if I can't even see Harry making a facial expression myself." She went back to reading, and attempting to hit her mouth accurately with her next bite of biscuit.

Kristopher seemed to have the same perplexed look as Hermione. "She's right, you know," he said through a mouthful of muffin. "Absolutely absurd." Harry and Ron turned back to their food and, as they did so. Kristopher seemed to shrug, as though he couldn't do anything about it and just decided to live with it.

But as breakfast drew rapidly to a close, Harry could feel a very strong and irritable vibe coming from Kristopher. It was as though he, Harry, was getting a look into the boy's head, without withdrawing memories from him as Snape had done to Harry for nearly and hour and a half. It was curious, though, because although Harry was not looking Kristopher in the eye, he could almost see the red shots of fury spurting inside the boy for it had become more natural already to Harry to keep his mind serene. He wondered to himself if this is what his book was getting at. The more he remained serene, the more aware he was of other's emotions? Maybe that was how to detect a Legilimens.

Ron and Kristopher went on ahead to Divination, Harry saying he would meet up with them there. His partner had been Neville for the last month of last term, afterall, and he felt an obligation to remain partners with him. The boy had promise, as he'd shown over and over in DA meetings, but after Ron had been so cruel to Neville while he was mad at him, Harry felt it was the least he could do.

Monday mornings Hermione had Ancient Runes instead of Divination, and it had become custom for Harry to walk her halfway there, and then split and take several shortcuts in order to make it to Divination on time.

They got up to leave breakfast about five minutes after Ron and Kristopher left, Harry taking her hand in his.

"This is so much better," Hermione said as they walked out into the entrance hall to take the flight of stairs to the second floor. "I mean, everything feels so much more right when Ron isn't upset with us."

Harry nodded. "I agree," he said, "it almost feels as though we make sense again. Or rather, we can finally work."

She looked up at him. "Do you mean you and I, or all three of us?"

He smiled. "You and I." Then, as if he just remembered, he stood up straight and let go of Hermione's hand.

"What is it?" she asked, watching him dig though his pockets.

"I almost forgot," he said, smiling broadly. Then he pulled out of his pocket a long golden chain and held it in front of Hermione's eyes. Her eyes widened as she put out her hand and Harry coiled it onto her palm. "I found it in my bedside dresser."

"Oh, Harry!" a tear rolled down her cheek and she threw her arms around him, planting her lips right on top of his. "Thank you so much!" she kissed him again.

He kissed her back and slung an arm around her waist. "If it goes missing again, don't be surprised. I kind of like the reward." She smiled and looked down at the chain again.

"Would you put it on me?" she asked, holding it out for him to take. She held up her hair so that he could put it around her neck.

He took the necklace and unclasped the lock, only to find that it had been broken. "No wonder you lost it," he said, "the clasp is broken."

"No!" she said, slightly horrified. "Oh, that's rotten luck." She sighed and slipped it into her own pocket. "I'll fix it later."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean Thomas and Anna Gill were the last members of the DA into the room of requirement that night, and they hurried inside, Dean taking a seat next to Ginny and Michael Corner and Anna sitting on the floor at his feet. Both looked happily around the room, and shared eager smiles with other members of the DA.

Harry was so anxious to get started on the new material he had for them that he couldn't resist holding their first meeting of the New Year the first Monday back. He could feel his heart beating through his chest and the sweat starting to form along his hairline. Bringing a hand to his hair, he pretended to itch as he wiped the precipitation from his brow. What he was about to show them was nerve wracking, he had only performed it twice successfully, but had been working on it for what seemed like ages.

He grinned broadly around at his friends, and, in a sense, pupils. He liked this kind of attention, where everyone was eager and willing to listen to what he had to say as apposed to the constant turning of heads as he passed in the streets. The latter he could do without, but reckoned that he was dreaming to wish for such things.

"Welcome back everyone," he said, winking at Ron in the process, Ron winked back. "I have got some excellent material for us to do this term and I'm sure everyone is going to be more than occupied. I did a little planning over break with Ron and Hermione about how best to schedule everything so that it will not interfere with O.W.L.'s later this year. I think, though, that we won't have a problem."

"Are we going to learn the Patronus Charm?" asked a short, black haired fourth year whom Harry recognized as one of Ginny's classmates and a fellow Gryffindor.

Harry nodded. "I expect so, in due time. But before we get to those, there is something more important we must learn. Beginning next meeting, with the help of Fred, George, Angelina, and Lee, we will be learning to perform hexes and spells without speaking." There were many delighted giggles and many eyes widened at the prospect of learning Defense material that most wizards didn't learn until their sixth year of schooling.

Through the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that Kristopher was scowling, very curiously. He was watching Hermione, and Harry suddenly felt a little uneasy. He quickly brushed it from his mind, for what he was about to show them required one-hundred percent of his concentration.

"As I said, _next_ meeting we will begin the art of casting unspoken spells," Harry said, striding towards a large space of floor behind one of the couches. All eyes followed him intently, each most likely wondering what he possibly had in store for them. "As for today, I have something else for us. I've been working on this for at least two months, and I think I finally have all kinks sorted out." He took a deep breath and pulled his wand from his cloak. "Watch closely," he said, his heart beating even more rapidly.

He closed his eyes, catching his breath, then opened them again, staring directly ahead at no one in particular. He raised his wand above his head, then quickly pointed towards the ground and shouted, at the same time, "PRESIDIUM DEFENDO!" A huge blast of a green-like glass shot up all around him, completely enveloping him in a circle. The wall seemed to glisten like Dumbledore' pensive, and sounded like crackling thunder as it danced around Harry.

The mouths of his members gaped and their eyes widened in amazement, but he only let the wall stand for thirty seconds before lifting his wand from the floor, and the wall seemed to sink back into the floor. He smiled to himself, feeling satisfied that he had performed it successfully. No one said anything for at least a minute before whispering and nudging started.

"That is called the Presidium Charm," Harry said, his throat becoming slightly dry, and energy suddenly drained from his head. His eyes went out of focus and he blinked a couple times, regaining concentration.

"I've never heard of it before," Angelina said indignantly, although her eyes were wide with shock and amazement.

"That's because…" Harry started, clearing his throat. "That's because I created it." An eerie silence followed, as though they had just entered a chapel and the quiet was the only respect they could muster. Harry brushed it aside and quickly continued. "I haven't had anyone test it on me before, so I need a couple people to help me…" Dean, Ron and Kristopher jumped up and hurried over to him. "Right. Okay, I need you three to all cast a funny charm on me at the same time, like leg-locking or Patrificus Totalis, when I create my wall again. Got it?" The three nodded, each looking a bit reluctant.

Harry motioned for them to move back a couple spaces, then did the same wand movements and shouted, "Presidium defendo!" Another wall erupted from the floor and nearly sent his three helpers to the floor. They regained their composure and spread themselves around Harry, very mesmerized by the wall around him, and glanced at each other. Ron help up his fingers, since it was impossible to hear anyone shout above the roar the wall made, and on the third finger they raised their wands and cast a spell.

If the wall hadn't been making so much racket, fifty gasps at the same time would have made the same amount of noise. Their curse looked as though it rebounded right off the wall, and to everyone's surprise, all three boys looked horrified. Harry let the wall drop again and grinned as Ron hopped around and both Kristopher and Dean fell flat on their backs, each clearly getting the worse end of their own curse.

"Amazing…" Harry mumbled, astounded that it worked. Everyone else seemed to have his same reaction. He quickly muttered the counter curse for each boy. Ron fell to the ground, relieved to have his legs functional again, and Dean and Kristopher rolled over from their position on the ground.

"That is the first time it's been tested with a curse, and I don't think I'd risk testing one of the unforgivable curses on myself, nor any of you," Harry said, walking back towards his friends. "But for curses, I firmly believe that it will deflect, if not rebound as we just saw, just about anything."

Still, no one said anything, every eye was boring into Harry's, waiting for what he'd do next. "Well?" he asked, finally, after no one spoke for a minute. "What are you waiting for, get into partners!" Everyone jumped up, excitedly, and paired off. "The first and most important thing you must remember is that in order to produce this defense shield, you must have a desperate need to save yourself, or otherwise concentrate on a desperation. If the need to protect yourself isn't great enough, it won't be as effective."

"You couldn't have been desperate to save yourself just then," Kristopher said suspiciously. "What's this all about?"

Harry turned and stared at him. "I also said that if you concentrate on a desperation, that means you can either recall one or focus on a time when you _might_ need to use it." To Harry's surprise, he was able to compartmentalize his response to Kristopher and therefore respond indifferently, as the Occlumency book said he should learn to do. But before he allowed himself to dwell on this feeling of pride, knowing that it was quite as damaging as anger, he continued with his explanation of the spell.

"Next in importance is the wand movement," he lifted his wand up over his head. "Raise it high like so, then as you shout the incantation, quickly whip your wand tip down as though your throwing it to the floor. As long as you keep it pointed downwards, it should stay." He paused, shrugging. "Although, the second time I did it, after I held it for five minutes my nose began bleeding, so it probably isn't wise to keep it longer than need be. For practice, let's start by saying the incantation. Ready? Presidium defendo."

The reply followed seemed nervous as all the students repeated after him. They sounded edgy, but excited, trying as hard as they could to say it right. Harry chuckled to himself, they had done alright for their first time. "Okay, try it once more, Presidium defendo!" As they repeated again, Harry felt satisfied. The tone had definitely increased in assertion.

"Alright then. Think hard about a time when your life was being threatened, or try to imagine a time when your life could be threatened. I'd warn you though, it takes full concentration, this is great practice for the Patronus we'll do later."

For the next half an hour, Harry walked around the room, observing and answering questions. Everyone seemed to be having difficulty saying the incantation as they whipped their wand in a downwards motion. He had to demonstrate at least three more times, but to his relief, he received no bloody noses. _Maybe it just takes practice,_ Harry thought to himself.

By the end of their time together, only Hermione, Kristopher, and Angelina Johnson had managed to produce the Presidium wall. No one was able to make it a shield. Harry reassured them that it would come with practice, and that they would run through it at the next meeting before they started on the next topic. Harry was mostly surprised to notice that although three of the group were able to produce the wall, they all seemed overly excited for a difficult task.

"Well done, Harry," Seamus said, patting Harry on the back. "That is some shield! I think I've almost got it."

Michael Corner and Ginny joined Seamus next to Harry, and Michael seemed to have a similar reaction. "I think I've almost got it, too, Harry. Next time I'm certain I will get it."

Ginny frowned at him, "Yours looks as though you have a little green rain cloud hovering over you."

"Thanks for the support, _Ginny_," Michael said, with an edge that sounded as though he was desperately trying to subdue a sneer. Harry raised an eyebrow at them when Ginny scowled and led the threesome out the door.

Finally the room was empty, except for he and Hermione, who was casting repairing charms on all of the items that had been shattered during the lesson. He walked over and repaired one next to her, she looked up, and to his surprise, looked very worried.

"What is it?" Harry asked, lifting his hand to rub her arm.

Hermione motioned to the couch, indicating him to sit. He did so, and she sat next to him. "Listen, Harry," she said, not quite meeting his eye. "I've been meaning to talk to you," she looked into his eyes, softly, but very grounded. "Okay, this is going to sound really silly, mostly because I will never be more of a girl than right when I say this," she said quickly, "but I have to otherwise I will never be able to get past it."

"Okay," he said, apprehensively, "I don't really see where this is going."

Hermione sighed. "Ever since she first met you, Ginny has been infatuated with you. Last year sometime I told her that if she just started dating other boys and being herself that you would see her for who she really is and not who she wants you to see." Harry bit his lip, fighting a smirk. She ignored it and went on. "When we got together she was furious with me because she thought I was telling her that just to get her out of my way."

Something clicked in Harry's memory when she said this and he recalled Ginny pulling her aside the morning after the Gryffindors found them curled up on the couch.

"Wait a sec," Harry said, his eyes drifting to a spot on the far wall, "isn't that what Ginny said to you…um, 'Date! Date you tell me!'?" He looked back at Hermione who turned a deep shade of red.

"Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "But I didn't tell her that to get her out of my way, that's what I really thought."

Harry crossed his arms. "I still don't get what your point is."

Hermione sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" Harry stared at her blankly. "Clearly I do," she said under her breath. She took a deep breath. "It's not like I can't stand other girls…you know…being intrigued by you because, well, I am," she laughed, but Harry didn't really get it, "anyway…I just want you to be honest with me when confrontations with other girls happen."

Harry kept staring at her. "What?" he said, nonplussed, and a bit louder than was probably necessary.

Then, very quickly, Hermione let her thoughts spill out in a high pitched voice, quite unlike herself and revealing that she was very embarrassed to be admitting them. "You can be honest with me if other girls confront you or if you're unsure of how you're feeling about…us." She turned a deep shade of red and looked away. Her voice returned to normal. "What I mean is, we need to be honest with each other about the stuff that we don't really think about. Like, if it bothers you that I am still writing back and forth with Victor, I'll stop."

Harry was taken aback by her comment, both curious and suddenly thinking very hard. Victor Krum, it hadn't even occurred to him that she might still be in contact with him. It concerned him more that Krum was writing to Hermione, rather than Hermione to him. Harry knew she would only bring him up if it weren't important to her to keep writing to him, but it sent an odd prickle across his heart, as though his heart were to start beating a different tune.

After a moment, it occurred to Harry that his face had turned icy, stony, when he relocked his eyes onto Hermione's, who looked very troubled.

"Harry?" she spurned, begging him to say something.

"What do you…" Harry began, then changed tactics, "does he fancy you?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Sometimes I think he might, but we hardly ever talk about…talk about last year. It's mostly what's been going on and what he's doing now that he's not at Durmstrang anymore."

Harry nodded, still icy, but he could feel his features melting. "It doesn't bother me that you're writing to him," he said slowly, "but speaking as a guy, which I am so I have quite a bit of authority on this subject, if you think he's into you, it might not be very smart to lead him on. Especially since your _boyfriend_ might whip a large can of—"

"Alright, alright!" Hermione said, cutting him off. She was smiling. He forced a smile to, but something else was tugging at his mind, which, he could tell, she was thinking of too. "And, about the other girls?" she said, meekly.

Harry sighed and leaned back against the sofa so that Hermione had to reposition herself slightly to continue looking at his face. "As far as I am concerned, Hermione," he said, stretching out his arms and interlocking his fingers behind his head, "you are the only girl in this whole world."

Hermione blushed again and, too, repositioned herself so that she was leaning on Harry, her feet dangling off the bluish satin sofa. "Thanks," she said softly, "but that still doesn't answer my question."

"Really?" he said blankly. "Because the book I read about girls last year with Ron while we were trying to get dates for the ball said that I needed to tell the girl that—"

"It's just a book Harry!" Hermione said, sitting up and looking at him, then suddenly realizing what she said. "I mean, right now, we're being serious. I don't want to hear flattery and I don't want to just be told what I want to hear. I want to know that if another girl hits on you and you find it intriguing that you won't go stringing me on, letting me go slowly so that I suddenly crash into a pool of filthy scum."

Harry sat up when she said "if another girl hits on you" and broke into a smile. "Is that what this is about?" he said, half laughing. "Oh, Hermione, you are so adorable when you're jealous. Is this about Ginny?" Hermione didn't say anything, nor did she indicate that she had heard him at all. "Okay, okay. I promise I will tell you when some random girl comes up and starts snogging on me, alright?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "I hope you know enough magic to stop someone who isn't your _girlfriend_ when they approach you in that part of your body!" she pointed to her lips.

"What, like this?" he asked, quickly connecting his lips to hers, making her jump slightly. He pulled away and smirked, she wasn't frowning, but it was far from being pleased. "Or like this?" This time he brought his hand up, letting his thumb brush across her soft cheek and then slither snake like around her neck and into her hair, bringing her head closer to his. He touched her lips very softly with his, as though playing with them. His eyes were closed, but he knew quite instinctively that he did not need them whatsoever.

Finally, he felt her hands lift from holding herself up on the sofa and wrap around Harry's waist, at the same time slipped on the satin material and Harry fell on top of her, still letting his lips linger on her mouth.

He broke away, a couple minutes later, when their limbs were so entangled they could only tell the difference by articles of clothing, and held himself above her so that he was looking into her eyes. She reached up and wiped a tuff of hair away from his face so that she could see his eyes.

"If you let anyone to that, Harry," she said, so softly that he almost couldn't hear her, though it made his skin tingle, "I swear I will never forgive you."


	13. Chapter 13

_The most vital aspect of Occlumency we will cover is undoubtedly awareness. Not only is it useful in deflecting a Legilimens' curse, as we will learn, but also at detecting where the Legilimens is. This is the most important step in protecting one's mind against penetrating curses, and the first step into Legilimency, which we will touch on later in the book. For now, steps will do, but don't take this lightly: it is the most important step, therefore it takes the most work and doesn't come quite as easily as one might expect or hope._

_Now, consider, if you will, being surrounded in a circle of a very threatening group of people. In order to stay alive it is absolutely necessary that no one touches you. Using peripheral vision, it is only possible to see so much ahead of you and out of the corner of your eyes, which of course, is much more productive for a wizard than a Muggle for the most obvious reasons. However, as implied, this sense is still limited, and in order to fully protect yourself against all people surrounding you, all of your senses come into focus as you wait to detect something in the air from behind, or just out of your vision._

_Awareness is, in fact, the complete control and maintenance of not only the five typical human senses, but also the two primarily attributed to wizards as thoroughly covered in Understanding the Wizard Sense by A.J. Morkin. Sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste, being the most common, and instinct and behavior, being the two wizard-unique senses. Instinct and behavior, or reflexes and responses as we will be discussing are attributed to wizards because of heightened senses and available, tangible resources._

_Reflexes and responses are the two topics we will cover under awareness, but before we begin discussing the importance of these it is necessary to understand what the importance of awareness itself plays in Occlumency._

_From chapters one and two we can gather that emotion plays a considerable factor that can work either for or against the Occlumens. It is very true to say that without subduing one's emotions the ability to conduct a proper awareness is nearly impossible. Awareness encompasses all aspects of the typical human senses as well as the extra two wizard-unique senses. The five senses, which will be most beneficial and tangible to the Occlumens, are crucial to awareness because of their obviousness, so to speak. It is true that a Legilimens with lesser experience requires eye contact, but of course this is not always the case._

_Awareness is first and foremost the number one technique at detecting a penetrating force. At the height of one's awareness. The Occlumens can, in a sense, see and feel as to where the Legilimens' power is coming from. After one has succeeded in emptying oneself of emotion, their senses are clear—the eyes can see things that may have been shielded under anger, for example. Not here that among the many goals of Occlumency, this ability is most critical in detecting a Legilimens. Combining the power of empty emotion and awareness can heave results above and beyond any ordinary wizarding level. In many cases, always varying based on the criticality of learning the art of Occlumency, this is all an Occlumens requires. As such, accomplishing this task will not only stop the external penetration, but it will allow an Occlumens to locate the Legilimens, which is a highly useful and important technique._

\\//

"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed, setting down the enormous book she was reading onto the solitary table that separated them. "I know it's important, but I do hate it when you look like that." She eyed the book in his lap precariously.

Harry opened his eyes and slipped a bookmark into his own book. "Look like what?" he asked, curiously.

Hermione scrunched up her face as if to hint she really didn't want to admit what she was thinking. She sighed again, "Like you're not enjoying my company," she said it very quickly, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Harry snickered. "I'm serious! You go into a trance and you look like everything you have to be happy about has been stripped from you."

Harry shrugged and shut his eyes again. "Well, I'm still practicing. Before long I'll be able to do this and fake smiling." Hermione huffed in mild aggravation, but the color disappeared from her face. "Don't worry about it, just trust me. Nothing could distract me more from anything than your company. But, when I look like that, you know I'm one step closer to reading your mind."

"You have no business up there!" Hermione gasped, swatting at the air as though Harry's hands were about to reach inside her head. "Just…oh just read. I'll do the same. Sorry I said anything." She picked her book up again and stuck her nose in it.

Harry chuckled, but didn't open up his book. He was semi-concentrating on his Occlumency tactics, but what he'd just read had brought meaning to him. He hadn't thought of incorporating all his senses before, but it was logical. He had just thought about smelling when Hermione had commented on his facial expressions. The more he tried to control all five senses at once, the more he found how increasingly difficult it became.

But, Harry felt that for the most part he was doing quite well. The noisy Gryffindor common room had fallen silent, as he realized it was annoying him, and he was aware of the sounds he wouldn't be able to hear otherwise, like Hermione flipping pages, feet scrambling across the floor, and the beat of a heart that was neither his nor Hermione's.

He allowed his other senses to converge on the heart beat, curious as to why he could hear this particular one. Why did it beat so clearly, so importantly? But, since he knew he couldn't see the beat of a heart if he opened his eyes, he decided to move on and test the outer limits of his awareness. He spent several minutes sitting completely still, his eyes closed, letting his mind run free throughout the reaches of the tentacles that seemed to crawl out of his head, invisibly stretching amongst the common room and, perhaps, beyond even that.

He was just trying to see if he could break into Hermione's memory when the strangest sensation came over him. It was almost like a knock, but hit him with a little force. He scrunched up his face and brushed it away with a twitch of his head.

Just as he did so, fifty very unfamiliar images streamed into his head, hitting him all at once in rapid succession. A little boy swinging on the trunk of an elephant; an older boy sitting in classroom after classroom, growing older in each image; a boy being controlled by an older gentleman, tossed around the room by the flicking of the man's wand; then the same boy looking much older pointing his wand at a blonde haired woman; then the boy as an adult, bowing low in front of—

But Harry didn't get a chance to see who he was bowing to, for the images suddenly stopped and Harry heard feet stumbling behind him. He jumped to his feet and whirled around, whipping his wand out at the same time to see who his attacker was. That had unmistakably been the work of a Legilimens, and he had successfully deflected it. When his eyes traveled down his own wand to see where it was pointed, his eyes narrowed as the shock shook through his body at the sight of his nemesis.

The common room had grown shockingly quiet in less than a second. All eyes were either on Harry, Harry's wand, or Kristopher, who was staring down the tip of Harry's wand, white as a sheet.

"What the bloody hell?" Harry's teeth clenched fervently, staring into the bloodshot eyes of Kristopher. Obviously, the boy hadn't expected Harry to be able to deflect the penetration, but at the moment, Harry was more concerned with how Kristopher knew Legilimency.

Harry had Kristopher backed up against the nearest wall, the window closest to where he and Hermione had been sitting. Now, Hermione was huddled behind him, holding the arm at his side and trying to get him to lower his wand. A small crowd was beginning to gather behind them, as Harry breathed harder, but refused to lower his wand. A will, apparently of his own accord, forced Hermione to unwillingly release him and she watched as her hands were disentangled from his robes.

Completely lost for words, Harry was only able to stare at Kristopher in disbelief. Kristopher, whose eyes were focusing mainly on Harry's wand, having been a member of the DA for quite some time now and knew the capabilities his wand held, wasn't saying anything either. Hermione reached again and tugged once more on Harry's arm before coming round in front of him and facing him, although not blocking him from the wand he had pointed at Kristopher.

"Harry! What happened?" Hermione said, exasperatedly. To her, as Harry began to realize, nothing had happened. Everything that had just happened had happened within seconds inside of his head.

Ron forced his way through the crowd that had gathered in a semi-circle around the spectacle, waving off the younger years who were eagerly hoping for a row, and the crowd reluctantly split. Ron stood across from Hermione, but still not blocking Harry's wand, although he looked slightly apprehensive about Harry's motives.

"What is it mate?" he asked Harry, cautiously.

Harry finally found his words, and lowered his wand. "He tried using Legilimency on me," he said softly, his eyes beadily staring headlong into Kristopher's. He knelt down in front of Kristopher, who had slumped to the ground after Harry had lowered his wand. "I don't know who you are," Harry whispered, just loud enough for Kristopher to hear, "but I know what I saw."

Kristopher's face, if it were possible, lost another shade of color and he looked as though he could be camouflaged against a whitewashed fence. Harry stood up and sat back down at his chair, quickly attempting to clear his mind of the hot-red anger that had flared up inside him when he saw that his invader was Kristopher.

What disturbed him more was the very last incomplete image he had gotten from Kristopher. The man looked as though he could have been an adult Kristopher, but the boy he had just attacked was no older than Harry himself, and looked the age of the boy being tossed around by the older gentleman. That was impossible. If anything, Harry could have believed that he could be a wizard impersonating a boy using Polyjuice Potion, as Barty Crouch, Jr. had done the previous year to Professor Moody, but the likeness of the two individuals was way too similar. Way too disturbing.

He was aware that in addition to Ron and Hermione, the whole of Gryffindor common room was staring at him, and that Kristopher hadn't moved from his position on the floor. But he wasn't exactly sure what to do. Was he to go to Dumbledore? What would he say? _Oh, Headmaster, my mind just attempted to be penetrated, but I deflected it and saw the memories of my fellow classmate._ Well, that would be a start, but would it accomplish anything?

Thoughts flew so quickly through his mind, he was having a hard time keeping up. If he did nothing, just let the boy go without addressing the brick wall he had just hit, he might be losing a chance of uncovering an important asset to Lord Voldemort himself. Was it better to be wrong and embarrassed of his mistake, or right and forfeit the opportunity to further the work of the Order of the Phoenix?

That was a no brainer, Harry was so used to getting into trouble by now that he was immune to the horrible punishment set upon him by Umbridge. But he wasn't about to bring a potential death eater to the old bat, he was going to go right to the Headmaster himself.

He jumped up from his seat again and walked over to Kristopher, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him up, and led him across the Gryffindor common room, out of the portrait hole, and down the hall towards Dumbledore's office.


	14. Chapter 14

Although Kristopher put up a slight bit of resistance by dragging his feet and muttering incoherently, Harry was itching to put the imperius curse on him as they shuffled down the corridor to the Headmaster's office. The people in the portraits turned their heads as the two boys struggled past, or hushed the conversation they were having with occupants of other portraits, some even followed by jumping into neighboring frames to watch a bit longer. After a couple moments, however, Kristopher, the cocky and inordinate classmate of his, quit putting up a fight and seemed to expect he was going meet his fate. He didn't even look as though he was trying to hide what he had just done. Harry, through his mind numbing anger, held such a tight grip on the boy's arm that he was sure there were going to be purple markings where his fingers grasped him.

Harry stood in front of the massive gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, grasping Kristopher on his arm just below the shoulder so hard that he could see the boy wincing silently. "Apple crisp," he told the gargoyle, and it jumped aside allowing Harry and Kristopher onto the moving steps. Harry held onto Kristopher as the steps moved upwards and brought them to the landing before the door to Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked and heard Dumbledore's pleasant resounding, "Enter!" from inside the massive office.

Opening the door, and dragging Kristopher inside with him, Harry was pleased to see that Dumbledore was alone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he half expected Professor Umbridge to be in with him, lecturing him on the shabby way in which he conducted his school.

"Harry, what a surprise," the Headmaster said, rising from his seat behind his desk. A look of high curiosity overcame him as he noticed who Harry had next to him, desperately trying to pry Harry's fingers from his arm, as though his arm were about to lose circulation at any moment. "I believe you're hurting young Mr. Alec there, Harry."

Harry glanced over at Kristopher who did look extremely pained, and instantly released him, shoving him slightly as he did. Kristopher stumbled in front of Harry and cradled his arm with his other hand, massaging the place where Harry's hand had once gripped him.

"What seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore asked calmly, looking straight at Harry. To Harry's surprise, his scar did not hurt this time when the Headmaster looked at him as it had done before, and Dumbledore seemed to notice as well for Harry could not have mistaken the brief flush of pride that washed over the Headmaster's face.

"I was studying with Hermione in the Gryffindor common room when I was attacked, inside my head, by him," Harry jerked his head towards Kristopher.

Dumbledore peered at Kristopher over his half-moon glasses, quizzically and slightly confused. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, what do you mean, attacked?"

Harry held up his Occlumency book, which he had forgotten was in his other hand until that very moment. "He was trying to perform Legilimency on me," Harry said, keeping his voice even, and trying as hard as he could to keep his mind clear. This was not the time to let his emotions take over. The harder he tried, however, the more the anger and confusion broke through. It had suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what purpose Kristopher would possible have breaking into his mind. The whole point of Occlumency was to keep Lord Voldemort out of his head, and it had worked, he hadn't had a dream about that long, dark corridor in weeks.

Suddenly, Dumbledore turned to the wall to his right and stared straight up into the portrait of an old witch standing behind a wooden chair. "Madame Bennita," he said, "would you please visit your other portrait and notify Professor Snape that I need to see him immediately."

"Of course, Albus," the old witch drawled, almost drunkenly. "I will be quick."

"Thank you, Bennita, your swiftness is appreciated," Dumbledore bowed slightly to the witch, then as she disappeared from her portrait, Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Kristopher. The Headmaster stared steadily at Kristopher, his eyes unblinking. "What do you have to say, Kristopher, to Harry's allegations?"

Kristopher didn't say anything, but glared back at Dumbledore, a fierce defiance playing in his dark brown eyes. Dumbledore let the silence drag on for several minutes, Kristopher's eyes flickering between the Headmaster's and Harry's. Harry found it very odd that the boy wasn't answering and even the old headmasters and mistresses on the walls were scoffing at the boy's rudeness.

There was a knock on the door and the greasy head of Professor Snape entered, followed by his long, black robes. He walked to the center of the room, standing next to Harry. His eyes flickered over the boys and he looked very surprised to see them in the room. He eyed them warily and looked at Dumbledore when he finally spoke. "You wished to see me, Headmaster?"

"Yes, Severus. We seem to have a bit of a problem, and I was hoping you could help us sort it all out," Dumbledore said, rounding to face the tall, dark figure of the Potion's master. Snape was clearly taller than Dumbledore, Harry noticed, but Dumbledore seemed to occupy more space with his brightly decorated robes, long silver hair, and half-moon glasses.

"Of course, sir, any way I can be of…assistance," he drawled, a small curve of a nasty smirk twitching the corners of his mouth.

"Harry, go on, tell Professor Snape what happened," Dumbledore said, now staring at Kristopher.

Harry swallowed, then slowly turned to his right to face the teacher he hated most at Hogwarts. In fact, aside of Lord Voldemort himself, Snape was probably the next person he hated in the world. "Right…well, I was studying in the Gryffindor common room, studying Occlumency, when I was able to feel, for the first time, someone trying to get in my head. As I deflected it, or willed it away as the book said to do, it backfired and I got flashes of him." Harry pointed at Kristopher, whose face had turned ghostly white again.

Harry paused, catching his breath. He'd been spurting the entire story out so fast that he'd forgotten he was talking to Snape. Snape was eyeing him very abnormally; his eyes were shifting up and down, but never leaving his own. Then a strange sensation came over him, and before he could continue with details of his story, he heard a low whisper, sounding as though it was coming from inside his own head.

_Let me in…_

Harry flicked it away with a slight nudge of his head and the feeling disappeared. But the voice came back, stronger this time.

_Let me in! What are you hiding?_

Harry flicked it away again, but this time the feeling didn't go away. He could practically see a dark cloaked figure inside his head, although his eyes were wide open and staring into Snape's own. The figure was approaching him quickly, reaching out his hand and Harry could feel the air around him change. He was inside, but wind was whipping the cloak of this figure, and he could feel a hard rush of air sweep behind him and blow suddenly right into the place where the figure's face should have been. Had the figure no legs, Harry might have thought it a dementor, but legs shuffled quickly beneath him, approaching ever faster but never quite reaching him.

To test this strange sensation, Harry groped around for his own hands, the ones he used to take action inside his head. The tentacles inside were distending and feeling around in the field of this very bizarre dimension of the mind. Determinedly, he reached and grabbed the figure. All at once, a very vivid and stationary image smacked into Harry, nearly knocking him over.

Harry squinted, afraid to admit that what he thought he saw was what he was actually seeing.

"_My Lord," Snape whispered, ever so softly, bowing his head in reverence, not looking up from the ground where his knees sat. Obedient. Gracious. An eerie hope lingering in his eyes._

"_Severus," the long hiss-like drawl of Lord Voldemort responded, his long white fingers expanding like small sticks from his hand. "My most loyal servant, you have returned."_

_Snape looked up into the red glinting eyes of his master. "You did not doubt I would return, my lord," Snape said, still in a low whisper, "I did not doubt your return."_

"_You didn't?" Voldemort asked, almost mockingly, as though he knew the answer. Snape did not respond, but kept his eyes fixed on a spot right above his master's head. "You did not try to find me, Severus. You denied your allegiance to our greatest goal, your allegiance to me. And yet you say you did not doubt my return."_

"_Of course, my lord," Snape said, rising to his feet, finally. "I knew that I must maintain my position at Hogwarts so that when you were found and regained your ultimate and definite power that I would be ready for your orders and could fulfill our greatest goal. My allegiance has always been to you."_

"_But you waited two hours to return to me after I called all my death eaters to me!" Voldemort said in a sudden rage. "You return to me after Harry Potter escaped again! Thwarted my efforts were, though I cannot blame that on you. The boy of course has a series of luck strung alongside him and something, quite obviously, was not right this evening. Something else needs to be done before he can be killed at my hand."_

"_That is why I've come back," Snape said, his voice increasing in volume. "Not to realign my allegiance after the Potter boy has escaped, but to offer four years of information that can greatly increase your chances of ending his miserable life. The boy is nothing but trouble, surrounded by greater wizards and smarter friends that have helped him avoid many disciplines. He is spoiled, my lord."_

_Lord Voldemort was silent. He swept from the spot and began pacing in a circle. Stopping, after a couple moments, he looked back at Snape. "What then, are you suggesting?"_

_A wide, curvy, malignant smile possessed Snape's mouth. His eyes narrowed and the brilliance of his own plan, his own idea, seemed to boil all of his hatred and anger into his truest passion. "Without his friends, Potter is nothing."_

Seconds after Snape had finished speaking to Voldemort, Harry's senses came flooding back into his body and went tumbling to the ground, pushing at his scar in pain. The usual prickling sensation was nothing to the exploding, searing pain he felt right now, all the blood in his head wished to empty through the thin lightning scar on his head. His temples throbbed so badly his head felt as though it were being compressed between two brick walls.

_There is no pain!_ Harry told himself. _Remember what you just saw? There can't be any pain!_ With an enormous effort, Harry threw away his pain and focused on something else, like getting to his feet. He looked around at caught Dumbledore's concerned gaze, then it wheeled about and saw Snape who had turned nearly as white as Kristopher.

Then to his surprise, the pain stopped and he quickly bounded to his feet, whipping out his wand and pointing it directly at Snape's heart, momentarily unaware that he was standing in the headmaster's office and this could be one of the most dangerous disobediences he could ever commit.

Although Snape had turned two lighter shades of white than before Harry got to his feet, he was not about to lose his nerve. He whipped his wand out of his robe and yelled, "Expelliarmus!" But Harry's wand, which Harry grasped even tighter when he heard the spell come out of Snape's mouth, did not leave his hand. Instead, the wand of Dumbledore's went sailing from the Headmaster's grasp.

Snape's wand was now pointed directly at Harry, their wands almost tip to tip. "You know nothing of pain," he murmured through clenched teeth. He raised his wand and began to say, "Avada –"

"PRESIDIUM DEFENDO!" Harry screamed, and in one very rapid motion whipped his wand down to his feet, sending a wall of green light up in a circle round his feet, completely encompassing him.

"—Cadabra!" Snape's killing curse hurled in its green, iridescent jet straight for Harry, and then gasped at the wall that had just appeared around Harry.

In the split second before the curse reached the wall, Harry felt as though the second had been much longer—a dawning realization had come over him: this could be it. He had never tested the killing curse on his spell, but his dire need for protection was so strong…

The curse hit the wall and made a loud crack, pulsating the beams of his wall and sending the green lights into ripples that echoed throughout the room. The curse then rebounded, heading straight back for Snape.

The instant before the curse struck the Potion's master, his eyes and Harry's locked, and Harry saw death; cold, scared death revealing its ugly shade in Snape's deep, round black eyes. The curse hurled Snape backwards, slamming him so hard into the wall behind him that several artifacts left their nesting on the bookshelves, crumbling in shambles around the very lifeless body of Professor Snape.

In freight, Harry let his spell go, feeling blood stream out of his nose and pour downwards onto his white shirt. He saw Kristopher move behind him and quickly dash towards the door, but did not get anywhere for Ron and Hermione, who had apparently been standing in the door, caught him by his arms. Ron, being nearly six inches taller than anyone else in their year, had him held down very easily. But he wasn't looking at Kristopher, he was looking at Harry, as was Hermione, and both looked at him as though they had ever seen him before. They stood there, gaping at him, utterly bemused.

Harry's eyes drifted from his best friend, and his girlfriend, down to the lifeless body of Severus Snape, absolutely taken aback that the man was, in fact, dead. His protection spell had reflected, or rather, rebounded the killing curse. The very curse that had killed his parents, hundreds of other witches and wizards, and that had attempted to kill him, now, three times.

He tried not to think of the invincibility aspect of the events in his life. The first time he'd survived the curse was lucky. He had no idea how he had escaped that incident, it was still a mystery to him. But in June, he had faced the curse wand-to-wand again, this time prepared with a spell of his own. At that point, it had been the presence of his parents that had helped him last throughout the trial. Now, his preparedness to battle in the most unlikely of times was beginning to go to his head.

He had created a charm to successfully deflect the most deadly of all curses, the curse that no other witch or wizard had ever survived, and he had now survived it three times.

Ron's voice broke the itching silence that had quickly set upon them, but he didn't sound as though he was just trying to avoid an awkward moment. "Hermione convinced me that we've never had any reason to doubt your judgment…" he said, looking reluctantly at Kristopher, who was glaring up at him. "But honestly, mate, we have no idea what judgment we're trusting." Then, to Kristopher, he said, "I thought you were my friend."

"You're going to trust that killer?" Kristopher snarled, jerking his head backwards at Harry. "You told me yourself that he's done nothing but lie to you and make you feel inferior since the moment you met." He turned his head and sneered at Hermione, for no apparent reason other than the fact that she held him tightly around the arm with her hands. "Get your hands off me, you mudblood."

"Shut up!" Ron yelled, sending droplets of spit sailing in every direction. "Harry is my best friend! You've done nothing but try to make me hate him!"

"And you were so close," Kristopher said with a very wicked smile spreading across his face. "You would have made a great death eater if you could have just held onto that anger. You're a pureblood too, and you're hanging out with his lousy excuse for a girlfriend, the mudblood." He looked directly at Hermione, sneering joyfully.

A tear seemed to pop into the corners of Hermione's eyes, but she didn't release him. Instead, Ron did, and was just about to sink his fist through Kristopher's face when Harry said, "Impedimenta," and an invisible wall kept Ron from punching his target. Quickly, Harry turned to face Dumbledore, who was ashen with shock, and said, "Accio wand." And Dumbledore's wand flew back to the headmaster, who gripped it and pointed it at Kristopher, and immediately ropes entangled his arms and legs, although leaving him in an upright position.

Hermione ran to Harry and buried her face in his shoulder. He lifted a hand and rubbed her back, feeling about as much anger towards the words Kristopher had utter as he had towards Snape right before he cast his curse.

Ron came up behind her as well and laid a hand on her back, still visibly shaking with fury. "You shoulda let me punch him," Ron gnarled, "he deserved it."

"Well in case you hadn't noticed," Harry whispered back, "there is a teacher in the room that could expel you faster than you can say 'I didn't mean to.'"

Both boys turned slowly to face their headmaster, who had regained his composure, although still looking very disconcerted. For the first time, Harry witnessed Dumbledore genuinely, visibly shaken, and it made Harry feel uncomfortable, as if he were intruding on a private affair.

"What was that spell you cast, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, softly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, still stroking Hermione's back. "It was, uh, Presidium Defendo," he said, cautiously. "I, uh, I created it, sir." The Headmaster didn't say anything. Only the low murmur of whispering between the portraits made any sound in the room.

"That was…that was quite extraordinary, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice brimming with suppressed pride. "You are quite a remarkable young man." He paused, hesitating, but took a couple steps closer to the three students. "What did you see?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "Which time?"

"With Professor…" Dumbledore paused, with a sharp intake of breath, glancing briefly down at the body of Snape, then quickly back at Harry. "Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry gathered his breath, his chest inflating with as much air as he could gather. "I saw…I saw him kneeling before Voldemort. The rebirthed Voldemort." As he said this, a sharp pain seared through his head again, prickling across his scar. With his free hand he reached up and touched it, instinctively, and winced in pain. "And he knows…" Harry said, his voice trailing off. He didn't know why he said that, but somehow, he knew it was true. When Harry and seen the image initially, the searing pain was nearly as strong as it was when he'd been the snake that had attacked Mr. Weasley.

"He knows it alright," Harry said, removing his hand from his head. Suddenly, he felt the strangest sensation. It wasn't like a Legilimens spell, or a prickle of cold. He felt depressed. It was heavy, mixed with anger and uncertainty. At once, Harry knew that this was what Lord Voldemort was feeling at that very moment. But he didn't say anything, for the weight of the emotion was so heavy that he was having trouble staying vertical.

Hermione had noticed this, and looked up just in time to see Harry's eyes flutter. His knees wobbled, and blood still trickled out of his nose. He had lost so much blood from his nosebleed that the addition of the heavy emotion was making his body very weak. His shirt was soaking in his smelly blood, but he had not noticed it until he felt his knees give way.

"Ron!" Hermione screamed. Ron reached out and grabbed Harry under the back, slipping his arm underneath the shoulder where Hermione had just been crying, and held him upright. Harry's head rotated on his neck, he blinked, looked straight into Ron's eyes, then his eyes shut and he saw nothing.

\\//

Two and a half days later, Harry awoke to find himself laying on a very comfortable bed in the hospital wing. His eyes blinked open and he stared into the blackened ceiling that he'd become way too familiar with over the last five years. His head felt light, but the rest of him felt alright. He lifted his hand to touch his nose, making sure that nothing was coming out of it any longer, but brushed against cold skin then very soft, yet bushy hair.

A head shot upright in the darkness. "Oh Harry!" Hermione whispered excitedly, flinging her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. "You are awake! Oh my god we have been so worried!"

"What happened?" Harry asked, his voice felt like it hadn't been used for days. A dry scratch tugged at his throat. "Water…" he whispered.

Hermione leaned backward and retrieved a half empty cup from his bedside table. She stood up and tipped the cup so that he could drink from it. He smacked his lips a couple of times, then leaned forward again, indicating that he wanted more. She tilted it again, and when he was finished he laid his head back onto his pillow and felt some feeling return to his throat.

"What happened?" he repeated, looking at Hermione. She had interlocked her fingers with his and was rubbing her thumbs into his palm, as she had become accustomed to doing over the last couple days.

"You lost a lot of blood, Harry," she said, her face very white. "But neither Dumbledore nor Madame Pomphrey could tell why you shouldn't be awake. Dumbledore finally said that your body must just be recovering from the charm."

A hoard of images rushed back into Harry's mind. Dumbledore's office. Kristopher. Snape. Snape kneeling in front of Lord Voldemort. His spell deflecting Snape's killing curse. Blood on his shirt. His eyes went out of focus as he remembered them all.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, reaching a hand up to feel his forehead. "What's wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he said, "nothing. I was…just remembering." Then, suddenly, regaining the sense of touch, he realized Hermione was holding her hand and gripped it back. "Hermione! You're absolutely freezing!" he said, shocked.

She tried to smile, but didn't succeed very well. "I've been so worried," she said, her voice failing her. "They kicked me out after the first night and I couldn't stand it—"

"The first night?" Harry asked, bewildered.

She frowned. "Harry, you've been unconscious for nearly three days." He stared at her, blankly. She sighed. "Like I said, Dumbledore figured your body needed time to recuperate from casting that spell. You do realize that it deflected the killing curse…"

"I don't understand…" Harry mumbled. "Why would I need to recuperate?"

Hermione looked behind her, checking that they were alone. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before," she said, avoiding his gaze, "but, since you created the spell, no one from the Ministry has had the chance to, well, verify it and make it legal and whatnot. Usually, when a spell is discovered it goes through a whole series of tests and needs to pass all regulations. Yours hasn't and is automatically classified as dangerous." She paused and looked at him again. "The Minister of Magic has been here. Dumbledore lied for you." Her eyes looked stricken. "Dumbledore's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" Harry asked, sitting himself up a little straighter.

"He disappeared," she said, her eyes widening. "Fudge tried to arrest him and he escaped!"

Now Harry sat straight up, sitting up so quickly his glasses nearly flew off his head. He pushed them back on, staring straight ahead. "But didn't he show them Snape? Why couldn't he have just told him that Snape tried to off me and I responded with a spell of my own? What was wrong with the truth?"

Her eyes looked soft and consoling, making Harry even more irritated. "Well, I would assume that was because of your spell," she said, "remember, I just said that the Ministry has to pass a spell to make it legal to use and if they knew you had used an unprecedented spell they could arrest you instead."

Harry remained silent, embarrassed that he had lost his temper. He tried to calm himself down, thinking about serenity and how vulnerable his mind was when he was angry. Shaking his head, as though to rid himself of the anger, he changed the subject. "What about Kristopher? Did they cart him off to Azkaban?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, Harry," she started warily, "Dumbledore only said that evidence had been revealed that Snape was still in allegiance to Lord Voldemort and they had a duel, resulting in the backfire of Snape's own curse. You didn't give Dumbledore anything substantial in order to incriminate Kristopher."

"Anything substantial?" Harry said, repeating Hermione's words like they were foul. "So he's just walking around now as if nothing happened?"

Hermione nodded bleakly. "I think he's in the common room—"

"What?" Harry shouted, completely enraged. He whipped off his covers and was about to climb out of bed when the doors to the hospital wing opened and in walked Ron, carrying a couple books.


	15. Chapter 15

Ron hurried to Harry's bed and set the books down on the ground next to Hermione, who glanced casually down at them, sifting through with her eyes to see what intriguing titles Ron had uncovered.

"Oh thank god!" he said, sitting next to Harry on his bed. "I can't believe it took you so long to wake up. You feeling alright?" He noticed Harry's funny position on the bed, since he had been preparing to jump off and, what? What was he planning to do to Kristopher? Kill him?

Harry didn't answer for a moment, neither looking at Ron nor at anything in particular. "Kristopher…" he said through clenched teeth. "Nothing is being done about him?" He now looked at Ron, who gave him a strange look, then looked at Hermione.

"You haven't told him?" Ron asked her, almost in disbelief.

Hermione cast an apologetic look at Harry. "I haven't got very far yet. He only just woke up," she said. "Do you want to explain? I want to look through these."

Ron pulled up a chair next to Hermione and stared wide eyed at Harry. "She told you Dumbledore escaped, did she?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Good, that saves me a bit." He cleared his throat. "It all happened in the entrance hall, you know, a huge row between Dumbledore, Fudge, and five other ministry nutters. They had come to investigate Snape's…disappearance and when they heard he was dead, well, you can imagine. No one heard exactly what happened, because the teachers all cast a charm around the entrance hall and none of the students heard anything. BUT!" he said excitedly, "Dumbledore knew it was going to happen! He left you a letter, which he sent by his Phoenix to me thinking you'd still be in the hospital wing. It has led to a series of trips to the library." He stopped to catch his breath.

Before he could continue, Harry held up his hand. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ron sighed. "These have been the most vital three days you have ever missed," he said. "We've been writing to Dumbledore telling him everything we know about Kristopher, everything we've suspected—"

"You mean you've been suspicious about him too?" Harry asked, looking at Ron, his voice hopeful and almost pleading for a promise that his time being angry at them was not wasted in pure ignorance.

Ron's ears turned red and smiled, embarrassingly. "Well, after talking to Hermione about it, I realized that I have been more suspicious than I've let on, or let myself believe." He brushed it aside and hurled on. "We sent about five owls on Tuesday, and two yesterday," he continued, "Hermione sent one this morning, even. But he's written back! It's spectacular! You know what he did? He wrapped up his letter in a fudge cake!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What? What does that mean?"

Ron laughed, then instinctively lowered his voice. "Well our mail has been being searched for some time, right? So Dumbledore, knowing a letter is too obvious a giveaway, has sent us three owls carrying a variety of cakes from Hermione's parents and my parents," he chuckled, "thank god for the Easter holiday this weekend, eh?" Once again he brushed it aside. "Anyway, the note on top says, 'Get Well Soon, Harry,' and Hermione gets all suspicious and reckons we should open it at your bedside. She cuts the fudge cake here," he points to his bedside table, "and almost slices through a letter, his first after we'd sent him several."

When Ron stopped to take a breath, Hermione continued for him. "Ever since his first letter we've wrote down as much as we could about him and sent them off. After his third letter, we started alternating trips to the library, so that we could see if any of his suggestions made any sense but also be here when you woke up. That started yesterday morning." she smiled at Ron and at the same time, something fluttery and soft flew through Harry's stomach that he did not recognize. When Ron returned the smile, a knowing smile, smile Harry could not take part in, Harry cleared his throat.

Hermione blushed and looked back at Harry. "Anyway, after his owl we knew we couldn't make a major breakthrough without you," she admitted. "We still don't know what happened in the common room. Dumbledore told us you think Kristopher attempted legilimency on you, but that is all we know. Dumbledore has his suspicions, so do we, but we are at a standstill."

Harry held up a hand. "Okay, you guys realize I haven't been awake for three days. I need more information! What was in Dumbledore's owl and what was in your owls?" he felt very frustrated, as though he were to just know what was in the letter.

"Sorry," Hermione said, backtracking. She bent down and rummaged through her enormous backpack, then came up holding a folded piece of parchment. "Here," she handed it to him, "this is his first letter."

_Dear Harry,_

_I realize my sudden absence may come as a shock to many at Hogwarts, and for that I am truly sorry. It pains me to abandon those who need me most at this very dire time. However, I am only gone in the physical world. I am, in essence, always protecting the castle and our beloved school, which is why it was vital I get this message to you. _

_Harry, I know your trip to my office with your fellow Gryffindor, Kristopher Alec, was blighted by what I thought was a specific case for Professor Snape, the result of which was much more catastrophic than perhaps it needed to be. After I carted you off to the hospital wing, I told Kristopher that we would deal with him later and he was to return to his common room. I also told him that if he stepped out of line again, there would be serious consequences. I know that is not much of a consolation for you, but my wonderful Phoenix had just informed me that Professor Umbridge notified the Minister of Magic about Snape's death. How she knew so quickly I still cannot figure out. Regardless, we mustn't dwell on that and return to the matter at hand._

_I need to know what happened with this young Alec boy. Please tell me all you can by return of owl. If you address the letter to Aberforth, I will be sure to receive it._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

"And what did you reply saying?" Harry asked, needing to know that very instant.

"Hermione wrote back saying that you still hadn't woken up and said that we didn't know what happened, but there were a bunch of things about the kid that made us really suspicious," Ron said, casting a furtive glance at Hermione.

Hermione held up another piece of parchment. "Here is his second letter, after three owls full of information from us," she handed it to him.

_Dear Ronald and Hermione,_

_It does surprise me that Harry has not woken up at this point, but I do suspect that it is due to the spell he created. As you know, all new spells must pass the Ministry of Magic's regulation panel in order to be classified as usable, most likely there are aspects of his spell that actually require physical stamina in order to work (most obvious by the nose bleed that initiated unconsciousness).I would not worry about that at the moment, he will wake up soon enough. But we cannot waste time, of course, which is why I very much appreciate all that you have informed me of._

_The most I can gather from your tidbits is that this boy was obviously sent to Hogwarts. As Hermione rightly states, it is very rare for a student to begin halfway through the year. I remember his parents arguing his case quite well. I also remember having a funny feeling about them, and my funny feelings usually mean something. However, without a description from Harry's own mouth about what happened with him, we cannot deduce much further what exactly is going on._

_For the time being, research as much as you can about any suspicions you have concerning the young Alec boy, any odd behaviors associated with the dark arts and such, and it may lead to a more thorough understanding._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

Harry set down the letter and stared ahead of him, at the empty bed across the aisle. How could Dumbledore have called Snape into his office before even hearing the whole story, Harry wondered. Wouldn't it seem prudent for the man whom he had sought grievance be the one to shed advice? Surely Snape did not know more than Dumbledore, yet they wasted precious moments that could not be recovered waiting for the man who was now dead. With Dumbledore gone, Harry's hope of avenging Kristopher seemed to have been hit with an impediment jinx: slowed before his eyes.

"What have you been researching in the library?" Harry asked, now knowing that they did not have much from Dumbledore to research, no crazy spells or wizarding conditions of dark magic. What then had they been doing while spending the better part of two days in the library?

"It started off really slow," Ron said, scrunching up his nose, "I don't know about Hermione, but I just walked down aisles of books thinking about my suspicions and trying to see if I could find a title that fit." He sighed, "I really only had his last name, and Shade Village, Scotland, which is where he's from, or at least that's where he said he's from."

"I went straight for the legilimency section," Hermione said, her voice more confident, as she usually was while in the library. "I also read your Occlumency book again and found the chapter you were reading when Kristopher interrupted you," she looked slightly relieved, "and let me tell you, it did me something good to know what you had been reading. Otherwise I would have really thought that my company was unobliging."

"The only time your company is unobliging," Ron said, yawning, "is when you mutter incoherently while reading and while I am trying to read." Harry watched his best friend stretch out his arms and place them behind his head, taking a great deal of time with his yawn. Could it be possible that he, Harry, was jealous of the time his best friends, one of which was his girlfriend, had spent together over the past fortnight?

When Ron had finished yawning, he looked back at Harry and shrugged. "So are you going to tell us what happened, or what?"

Harry, coming back to himself and brushing aside his momentary pang of jealousy, nodded. He sat back in his bed, as he had been sitting on the side, his feet dangling inches from the ground, and ran his memory back to that moment in the common room when he first noticed the intrusion.

"It was really strange," he said, squinting his eyes as though trying to see something far away, "I was sitting there hearing a whole bunch of things I couldn't usually hear, trying to experiment with my senses, when something like a knock resounded in my ears. It wasn't a knock, but it was the sensation of someone knocking, like Ron's mother waking us up by knocking before she enters the room."

Ron scowled. "I hate it when she does that." He shrugged, then laughed. "I suppose it's better than bursting in and scaring the pants off of us."

Harry nodded. "Well, when I brushed it aside like the book said to do, at the moment it didn't really occur to me what was happening, my blank mind broke and I could see all these images of the same boy. It was Kristopher, from a child on a swing, to a student in a classroom, to what looked like Kristopher as an adult, killing a woman and then bowing in front of someone…" his voice trailed off as the horrible pictures replayed in his mind's eye. The more he thought about them, the more they made him sick.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance. "What do you mean, Kristopher as an adult?" Hermione asked, her eyes watching Harry closely.

"I mean that the man killing the woman and the man on his knees looked like it could have been Kristopher as an adult," Harry repeated, realizing, at once, how strange it was to be saying that.

"But how could that be?" Hermione asked, standing up and walking to the end of Harry's bed. "Kristopher is our age."

Harry shrugged. "When Snape entered my mind, all he saw were memories from my past—"

"You think that Kristopher's adulthood is behind him?" Ron asked, almost sarcastically.

Harry frowned. "If so, then so is everything else. It's like instead of growing old, he hit thirty and came back down. Next year he'll be fourteen!"

"Harry, it isn't funny," Hermione said seriously, "this doesn't make any sense." She paused, crossing her arms. "I don't think we can do or understand any more without writing to Professor Dumbledore."

\\//

With the help of Ron and Hermione, Harry composed a letter discussing the events of his encounter with Kristopher, emphasizing the fact that he truly believed it was Kristopher as an adult and not a relative that looked like him—as Hermione had suggested—and sent another owl addressed to Aberforth.

"Isn't Aberforth his brother?" Harry asked. "The one who performed indecency on goats?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "Ron and I supposed he's staying with him."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "But isn't that too obvious? Wouldn't the Ministry be keeping tabs on his family?"

"His brother is his only family," Hermione said, "I don't know if anyone knows where he is anyway." She paused and thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, I don't understand how the Ministry can know which owls to intercept, but perhaps Dumbledore knew his brother's name wasn't being flagged."

That had been several days ago. As the days piled on top of each other, all three friends began to worry that their owl had been intercepted and their letter trounced. They tried not to indicate who the letter was going to or who it was from, but were forced to be extremely explicit in Harry's experience.

One evening in the common room, Ron suggested they wait til after everyone had gone to bed in case Dumbledore wanted to show up in the fire as Sirius had done.

"Remember last time Sirius did that?" Hermione said, huffily, "He was almost caught! There's no way Dumbledore would risk it."

"Dumbledore is the most clever wizard of our age, Hermione!" Ron retorted. "Surely he'd have a way around that."

They waited, even amidst Hermione's insistence that he would not show. Dumbledore did not show, of course, but Ron passed it off by saying that they had chosen the wrong night and that maybe he'd come tomorrow or the next day. Harry knew that Hermione was right, though, but he thought that it was clever of Ron to have come up with the possibility.

To distract themselves, they made frequent visits to the library to look up how a wizard could appear younger than he actually was. How a wizard could grow up, then seem to grow down. It befuddled Harry beyond even simple concentration, and to his dismay, it seemed to be doing the same to Hermione. She looked so confused while tearing through large volumes of strange magic, muttering under her breath, that he felt another surge of hopelessness engulf him.

But he watched her pour over the books, noticing her muttering and remembering Ron's comment about it while he had been in the hospital wing, wondering why it bothered him so much that Ron had noticed it too. It wasn't as though he was in competition with Ron, Hermione had already chosen him, Harry, as her boyfriend, and seemed jealous when Harry spoke to other girls. He didn't know if he was more worried about the fact that Hermione could change her mind at any time and realize she like Ron more than him, or if Ron thought he would have a chance with Hermione if something were to go wrong between her and Harry.

There were no attempts of sabotage, Harry noticed. Even while Ron had been angry with them he had never tried to break them apart. He had seemed genuinely happy for Harry. Seemed, in any case. Since Harry could not deduce his true feelings about the matter, he decided to drop it until he had more evidence swaying him one way or the other.

\\//

Kristopher had been as elusive as ever. He had spent very little time in the common room at the same time as Harry, and went to bed extremely late in order to go to bed either at the same time or after Harry. He hadn't spoken up in classes and usually seemed absolutely petrified when passing Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the corridors.

Now, in the room of requirement, Harry learned from Ron that Kristopher was feigning sickness, no doubt taking one of Fred and George's puking pastils, and was in the hospital wing for the night.

"What have you got planned for today, Harry?" Dean Thomas asked, when all the members of the DA had found their pillows on the ground, laying sprawled out on the marble floor or sitting on the couch.

Harry's eyes flickered across the couch and a small smirk came to his face and heart, remembering the last time he had sat on it. The people watching him got excited when they saw him smirk, thinking he had something really good planned, and he quickly changed his expression to a more serious one.

"Before we begin anything new, I have something very important to say," he found Hermione's eyes, encouraging him to go on. He had reluctantly agreed to admitting what happened with Snape, mostly because of the consequences of his spell. "I had the opportunity to use my spell against a very deadly curse," Harry said, not looking at anyone for longer than a split second, feeling a red hot boil coil up his neck. "It may seem churlish that I am admitting this to you, seeing as though I am not giving any specific details and asking you to believe me simply by my word, but I guarantee that it is for your own safety."

"You've taught us so much," Lee Jordan piped up, "we will believe you if you say it's true." There was a general consent of agreement as the other members nodded. When he caught Ginny's eye she gave him a wink, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and butterflies flitter through his stomach. What was that? He looked around for Hermione, who was glowering slightly at Ginny, and kept his eyes trained on her for a moment, as though to redeem himself of his bad behavior.

"Thanks, Lee," Harry said, slowly. "Well, I used it when I thought my life was being threatened. My desperate need for survival, the basis of the spell, was so powerful that it deflected the killing curse…" all thirty members, aside from Ron and Hermione, gasped at almost the same time, making the noise sound like a wheezing gasp for air after coming up from under the water. Harry sucked his breath in as muttering broke out amongst his audience, he caught Hermione smiling broadly, trying to contain her pride in him.

"Anyway," Harry said loudly, putting up his hands to quiet them down, "what I never even considered, and Hermione informed me of, was that in order for this spell I've created to be legal it needs to be passed by the Spell Regulation office. But the legality of the spell is the least of my worries right now," he said, beginning to move around them, shuffling his feet to mask his slight embarrassment, "after I used the spell, my nose bled so badly that I fell unconscious."

A look of comprehension crossed over the faces of the crowd. Ginny let out a small, "Oh!" and George said, "No one knew why you were in the hospital wing, but this must be it!"

Harry nodded. "Three days, just about. Unconscious for two and a half." A couple sighs of "Oh, Harry!" and "Are you feeling better?" rustled among them all, and Harry quieted them again. "I don't know why my spell took so much out of me," he said, "but I think it best not to use it unless you absolutely have to. Don't go parading it through the corridors and use it for jinxes or hexes. I mean, if someone is going to use an unforgivable curse on you, by all means use it, but don't rely on it like it will work every time or that it will work indefinitely."

"But it worked for you, didn't it?" Terry Boot asked, murmurs of confusion circulated.

"Yes, it did," Harry admitted, "but I still fell unconscious afterwards. I am just afraid that if it works differently for everyone that it might not do what it did for me."

Hermione cleared her throat and eyes reluctantly shifted to her. "I think what Harry means is that since he created this spell and it hasn't been cleared by 'professionals'," she used her fingers to mock the ministry, "it isn't clear whether or not this spell is simply a spoof or if it possess all the qualities necessary to be classified as usable."

Ginny frowned. "But you and Angelina were able to produce the green wall," she pointed out.

"Well there are many parts to a spell," Hermione retorted, "in first year, every time Seamus tried to perform a new spell but got something wrong, the object burst into flames, does anyone remember?"

Dean laughed. "Oh, yeah, that's right! I'd forgotten about that." He paused, thinking. "So do you mean to say it's one thing to wave your wand and utter an incantation, but another to actually think about it and concentrate on what you are doing?"

Hermione nodded, "Exactly! I might be able to produce the wall, but who knows what would happen if anyone aimed a spell at me. It might deflect, it might dilute it…we don't really know. Of course we could try, but I do think it's safer to wait."

"Do you mean that it is being submitted to the Department of Spell Regulations for authenticity?" Angelina Johnson asked, shocked and awed.

"No, no," Harry said, holding up his hands.

"Not yet, anyway," Ron said with a smirk. "The ministry is too excited to catch him off guard and throw his ass in Azkaban to accept he's created a spell."

Fred laughed. "That would be great, wouldn't it? I can see the headline, 'Potter creates spell, gets chucked in Azkaban.' The Prophet would have a field day."

Harry tried to smile, but he just felt sluggish; the events of the last two weeks had put a damper on his achievement. But there was no way he was going to let his friends succumb to the potential dangers of the spell, he was trying to teach them all to survive, not risk their lives even further.


	16. Chapter 16

Two days after their last DA meeting, Harry finally received a reply from Dumbledore. Ron and Harry were in their dormitory alone, changing before Saturday morning breakfast, when a bright flash of fire exploded in the center of the room and a feather, along with a single piece of parchment, fluttered to the floor. Harry jumped and fell off his bed, but Ron, having already received two notes this way, turned casually and walked over to it, laughing at Harry.

"Easily spooked, are you? How many times has you know who tried to kill you?" he bent over and picked up the feather and parchment. "These feathers are so beautiful, I wonder if Faux will ever go bald."

Harry, picking himself off the floor, had seen Faux burst into a fireball on one occasion and knew full well that every couple days or weeks, he could not quite remember, it grew back from infancy. But he chose not to say this out loud to Ron.

"Shall we bring it down to Hermione?" Ron asked, handing the envelope to Harry. "Reckon she'll have more insight than either of us, anyway." Ron stood, waiting for Harry to reply. Harry watched him, curiously, as he took the envelope from him. Why were his suspicions so great? Why did he insist on having them? While they were all friends and Harry and Hermione were not together, he would say the same things; but for some reason, everything was different now. He didn't want them to be.

"Yes, I'm sure she'll want to see it," Harry said smiling and taking the letter from him. Ron didn't seem to notice the suspicion that flew through his mind and he quickly turned away from him so he wouldn't see it in his eyes.

He walked back to his bed and pulled on his sweater over his long sleeved shirt. It was already April and the snow was melting, but the castle was still bitterly cold throughout the morning hours. They had learned their lesson last weekend by not wearing two layers to breakfast and were sorely uncomfortable.

Within minutes they left the dormitory and rattled down the stairs, their shoes gently clapping against the magnificent stone steps. Bright red and yellow colors shone all around them in the sunlight streaming in through the windows and a fire blazed merrily in the far corner. Hermione sat in one of the armchairs facing the boy's staircase, it sat right in the stream of light, no doubt she was using it for warmth. Harry almost fell down the steps on top of Ron when he saw her; the sunlight reflected off of her beautiful hair, dangling softly in front of her face. She looked so perfect sitting there, like she was waiting for the sun to feed her.

To their clamoring, she looked up and smiled, her beauty emphasized further by her smile. She shut her book and stood up, but Harry and Ron had rushed over next to her and sat down, Harry on her armrest and Ron pulling up a wooden chair.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting back down and looking slightly worried.

"Dumbledore!" Harry whispered, slipping the letter from his pocket. Her eyes widened and a small line formed across her mouth, as though her mind were pleading in hopeful glee.

"Read it out loud!" she said, Ron nodding in tune.

Harry tore open the envelope and removed the piece of parchment inside. Nervously, anxiously, he read.

_Dear Harry, Ronald, and Hermione,_

_I am very pleased and relieved to hear that Harry made a full recovery. When I return to Hogwarts, Harry, we shall discuss your spell and figure out together if anything went wrong and what that might have been. If all goes well you might be the youngest wizard to ever have created such a spell. Your grandchildren's grandchildren will no doubt be talking about it as the spell of all time. It may be the very thing the wizarding world needs to crush the unforgivable curses. _

_On to more important matters, however, Kristopher Alec. I realize that I have been very long in replying, but I've had to move around a bit and do a little research of my own. Though I highly doubt it is in the Ministry's best interest to arrest me, whether they know it or not, I think they might continue to try in order to squash rumors that I was the death eater who murdered an innocent teacher. Preposterous, I know, but these are desperate times. In any case, it greatly concerns me that you saw Kristopher as an adult when his legilimency backfired on him and I think the only thing that could have happened is that he's been taking a Deaging Potion. Very difficult to brew and very painful to undergo, and unfortunately the full moon passed last week while I was still doing research of my own. The full moon is the only time he can drink the potion, and then he is alright until the next full moon. It is a very odd and dangerous potion, if not brewed correctly, horrible things can go wrong with one's body. I would not recommend it to my worst enemy._

_For steps of action, my only advice is to not let the boy leave school. He should not go to Hogsmead, he should not go home for Easter holiday for he will undoubtedly not return. The good news is I will be back soon and can help you take legal action against him. I do believe he is under the employment of Lord Voldemort, but since the dark lord has no way of getting in the school—also considering he is trying to lay low at the moment—you do not have much to fear. I am sure Mr. Alec never considered that Harry might actually accomplish Occlumency, which was a very sorry mistake on his part and that of Lord Voldemort's, and he is much more frightened than you. If he exhibits any type of dark magic, the Ministry will no doubt be informed and he will be questioned for the purpose of simply trying to catch the escaped prisoners of Azkaban._

_That is all I have for now. Keep a sharp eye for the unbeaten path and do not let your guards down. No one is asking you to defend the school, but I ask that you be a loud warning bell at the top of the highest tower._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

_P.S. Address any future letters to Snuffles._

"Why does he always call me Ronald?" Ron asked, a bit annoyed, but amused all the same.

Harry was frowning. "What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, searching his face.

"He didn't tell us we could do a single thing!" Harry growled. "He basically said the bloke is free until he does something wrong." Ron stared at the back of the letter as if he could read it through again, his smirk turning identical to Harry's frown.

Hermione sighed. "He must have a plan, Harry. You can't let it get to you, of course he knows what he's talking about." Then her tone changed. "But what about this and Voldemort!" she exclaimed. "Dumbledore supposes he's under the control of Voldemort, does he?"

"You mean he's under the imperius curse?" Ron asked, considering.

Harry shook his head. "In one of the memories I caught of his, he was bowing in front of someone. Even though I couldn't see Voldemort himself, I couldn't imagine that it would be anyone else. I reckon he's exhilarated that he gets to be back in Hogwarts, spying for his master."

"Not anymore," Hermione said, her mouth twitching, "Dumbledore said that he probably never anticipated you learning Occlumency, and thought it would be a much easier trip." She thought silently for a moment. "Though why he tried to perform legilimency on you in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, I still can't understand. I do agree that he was ready and willing to work for Voldemort, that much is clear."

"For once I can't see how this is going to spin out," Harry grumbled, "nothing is happening fast enough. I'm out cold for three days, it takes Dumbledore two weeks to respond, and now we have to wait even longer to get rid of this masquerading old man."

"I know what you mean, mate," Ron said, "it kind of seems like it should be ending now, not beginning."

Without much else to say on the matter, they decided to go to breakfast. The corridors were chilly, so as Ron led the way, Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione and drew her in close. She shivered in his arms, but the heat of Harry's body kept her warm.

"You are freezing," Harry said under his breath. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course," Hermione said evasively, "why wouldn't it be?" She didn't meet his eyes, he had tilted his head downward slightly and was looking at the top of her head, but she stared straight ahead at Ron's back. Harry couldn't tell whether or not she was telling the truth, but decided it was just the low temperature of her body that was making her response vague.

The great hall wasn't very full; most students had already eaten and gone on to their respective Saturday activities. Fred and George had just gotten up from the table laughing, and, noticing Harry, Ron, and Hermione, hung around to say goodmorning.

"Heard about Umbridge, yet?" George asked, a mad gleem sparkling in his eye, Fred barely containing his own laughter next to him.

"No! What happened?" Ron asked, a smile brimming on his face.

Fred chuckled. "Well, looks like she got a little gift from her amphibious relatives," he said, nodding towards to front table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked towards the front table where Professor Umbridge was attempting to engage Professor Flitwick in conversation, but Flitwick couldn't stop looking at the top of her head, and for good reason. The old familiar pink cardigan she usually wore had turned a nasty green and developed what looked like warts. It was perfectly plain that she hadn't noticed, even though everyone around her was staring at it.

"How did it get like that?" Ron asked, through curls of laughter.

Fred and George looked at each other, beaming. "Let's just say," said George, "that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is going to a whole new level." Fred removed something from his pocket that resembled a sausage and held it up, simultaneously, George pulled an odd top hat from out of nowhere. "Fred, the Nausage, if you will." Fred handed him what George called a Nausage, then bowed curtiously and held out his hands as though introducing George as the next act on a stage.

"A person simply eats the Nausage," Fred explained, as George demonstrated, "which tastes like chocolate and peanut butter with a hint of cinnamon, and…" he stretched out his arms again, reemphasizing his point. Right as George swallowed the lump, the top hat he had placed on his head began sprouting toad like warts all over, and its glistening black velvet began turning a murky green. "Presto chango!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared in amazement. "Wow!" Harry said, awed. "That's spectacular!"

"How did you get her to eat one?" Hermione asked, skeptically.

Fred smirked. "A hovering charm, of course. She's such a clueless old bat that she didn't even see it soar in on her plate," he said with a laugh.

"I reckon Flitwick did, though," George added with a snigger. "He's just as fed up with her as we are, so I doubt he's going to say anything. Won't it be a great surprise next time she looks in the mirror?"

"Does it ever go back?" Hermione asked, as George removed the hat from his head and held it out in front of him.

"Oh, yes," George said, smiling. He brought out his wand and tapped it, saying, "Finite!" The hat immediately turned back to its black velvet shine. "If you don't think of that, it reverts back in a day or so."

"That is some great magic," Hermione said, looking very impressed, "I never would have been able to think of that."

Fred and George bowed in unison. "Thank you, dearie," Fred said, touching a hand to his heart.

"We aim to please and fulfill those with less imagination than ourselves," George said, both twins laughing. With a wave, they turned and headed out of the great hall, laughing all the way out.

"Less imagination?" Ron muttered, somewhat offended. He sat down in a huff, Harry sitting next to him and Hermione on the other side. "What do they think we are, a pile of rocks?"

"Come now, Ron," Hermione said, grabbing a kipper in front of her, "rocks have no imagination at all. I would say…we are ferns."

Ron leaned forward and looked at her. "Was that a joke, Hermione?"

"Ha. Ha." Hermione said, sarcastically. She was about to retort when a small brown owl swooped down in front of her and dropped a copy of the Prophet in front of her. Only momentarily startled, she tucked several Knuts inside the pouch attached to the owl's leg, and then it flew off. She opened the paper and began to read.

"Anybody we know dead?" Ron asked through a mouthful of eggs.

Hermione ignored him and kept reading. "Nothing outstanding," she said, flipping from the front page, "only some man named Roger Stebbins was appointed head of the Department of Magical Transportation."

When she opened the paper to the center, Harry saw the front cover. It had a bulky, black haired man on the cover shaking hands with Fudge. Fudge was positively beaming, but the other man, Harry concluded must have been Stebbins, looked as though he'd experienced more exciting times. Hermione read on for a couple minutes, then, deciding there was nothing too interesting to note, set it down.

"Have either of you seen Kristopher recently?" Harry asked, glancing briefly up and down the Gryffindor table. "I feel like I haven't seen him since Dumbledore's office."

"He's been in classes," Hermione said, also checking the table. "Hasn't he been sleeping in your dormitory?"

"Yeah," said Ron, not bothering to look up, stuffing more toast down his throat. "He's slept in our room every night. I think he gets up early to avoid Harry." It didn't seem to bother him that the boy they should be keeping an eye on was nowhere to be seen, and even less to be tracked.

"I should keep a watch on him with the map," Harry muttered. Only Hermione heard him, and she turned her head to look at him. "Dumbledore said that we shouldn't actually do anything, that there was nothing we could do," he said, before she could say anything, "but that doesn't mean we can't make sure he's not up to anything sinister, does it?"

"That's not what I was going to say," she said, looking only marginally hurt by his comment.

"Oh," Harry said, flushing, "sorry. What were you going to say?"

"Well," Hermione said, as though she had not taken offense at all, "I've seen him in the library a lot."

"But I'm in the library with you," Harry said, "I've never seen him."

Hermione laughed. "You are in the library with me only half of the time," she said, taking another bite of eggs on toast, "but he's been in there the same time as you, too."

"I'm only in there half of the time you are?" Harry asked, shocked. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you doing when I'm not in there with you?"

"I'm definitely not reading," she said, looking cross, "I'm usually making out with Slytherins."

Harry set down his fork and looked away from her. "That's not funny."

"You've never cared how much I've been in the library before," she said, still looking at him, "why do you care so much now?"

Ron, next to Harry, made a coughing fit that was so fake they could hear the strained dry rasp of his throat. He persisted though, then held up a hand to excuse himself and fetch the water jug a ways down the table by Dean and Seamus.

"Nevermind," Harry said, watching Ron finish coughing as he stood next to Dean, pointing to the water jug, and pausing to talk.

Hermione lowered her voice even further. "Don't nevermind me!" she said in a huff. "Do you really think I would be doing anything besides studying in the library? We've got OWLs coming up, for pete's sake."

Harry knew she wouldn't lie to him, knew she wasn't lying to him, but he still felt angry. He figured it was from the lack of action he was able to take off of Dumbledore's letter. It was frustrating him beyond comparison that he couldn't do anything about that stupid boy, and the fact that Hermione had seen him in the library, while she had been alone, had just reminded him of how little time they'd had to spend together recently. He didn't like to think about it because the more he did, the more angry it made him.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking back at his food, his tone was still sharp, clearly contradicting the apology.

"Don't say you're sorry unless you mean it," Hermione said, shoving her plate away from her and crossing her arms. "Don't just go all out on me like that," her voice was pleading, which made Harry even more irritated. "What's really wrong, Harry?"

"What's really wrong?" he repeated, in a low, annoyed whisper. "What's really wrong, Hermione, is that dolt has run free while clearly in the company of Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore doesn't want us to do a damn about it." Without even realize he was doing it, he stood up, not looking back at his food nor Hermione, and walked out of the great hall. He could feel Hermione's eyes staring at his back, hoping he'd turn and come back, but he didn't. He kept walking.

\\//

Harry grunted for the hundredth time as Ron scratched out a word on his parchment, writing a practice essay for transfiguration. They were sitting in the great hall between lunch and dinner, when the room was designated for students who needed a large place to spread out and concentrate.

"That's why they call it a practice essay," Ron hissed at him. He shot Harry an annoyed look, but Harry didn't look up. He was flipping through the pages of his potions book, not really concentrating or reading, just brooding. "Can't you buckle down and study?" Ron asked. He had become increasingly annoyed that as over the past hour and a half, Harry had done nothing but avoid Hermione's stare from the other end of the table.

Ron glanced down at Hermione, who was sitting with Ginny and Neville. She was seated so that she could look at them, but not outright stare. She caught his eye and gave him a desperate look, then shifted her gaze back down to her book. Ron was well aware that she and Harry hadn't spoken in two days, and it was all lost on him because he hadn't stayed long enough at breakfast Saturday morning to hear what they had been fighting about.

"Okay," Ron said, setting down his quill after Harry grunted again plainly looking for a fight. "I told myself I wasn't going to get involved, but this is really getting ridiculous." He glanced back at Hermione, who was looking at Harry again. "What in hell did she do to deserve this?"

Harry looked up, his fist still propping up his head, which was turned away from Hermione. He opened his mouth to retort, but what came to mind felt stupid and painfully childish, but he needed to be angry at someone, since Kristopher was MIA again. He didn't want to be mad at Hermione, he needed to be around her, to feel her touch, to hear her voice, but it was too easy to go on being mad than to just admit he was wrong.

He looked at Ron for a couple moments, then sighed and looked back at his potions book without saying anything. Carefully, Ron turned to Hermione and shrugged. Hermione heaved a great sigh and turned to Ginny, who had been watching them and became very embarrassed when Hermione noticed. Ron smirked, but quickly wiped it away in case Harry found that annoying too.

"Harry, come on," Ron said despairingly, "if this is still about Kristopher—"

Harry's head shot up and gave him a look that said, very clearly, to shut up. Ron held up his hands. "Fine, fine! I give up. But if this is how you're going to treat your friends, not to mention your _girlfriend_," he emphasized the word mockingly, "then you are going to find yourself out of friends faster than you can say death eater." He picked up his papers, quill, and ink, gave one last look at Harry, who had looked back down at his book, then moved all his things down the table to sit by Hermione.

Harry sat by himself, still grumbling inaudibly. He didn't dare look down the table at his friends, who were so obviously staring at him he thought it was pathetic. Recently, his occlumency practice had been so keen and sharp that he knew emotions of certain people without even asking. He could tell, most of the time, when someone was looking at him, and this was one of those times. But instead of just one person, he felt three sets of eyes on him, which did nothing to improve his mood.

He glanced up at the ceiling, checking on the weather. He had a funny inclination to go for a walk about the grounds. It was cloudy, looking like rain, but he didn't really care, he needed to get out of the castle. Quickly, he stood up, shoved his potions book inside his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out of the great hall. To his great relief, the exit was the opposite direction of his best friends, he was not forced to ignore them as he walked past.

What confused him most was why he was handling his pride so delicately. He didn't have a big head, his notoriety upon entering school at the beginning of the year had squashed his miraculous escape from Voldemort only a couple months previously. Even at DA meetings he was able to pass off all the things he could do by insisting that they were necessary at the time. He needed to know spells for the Tri Wizard tournament, he needed to learn to cast a patronus so that he could get past dementors during quidditch. It all made sense in his head, everything had its place in his magical education. So why was it so hard to forgive and forget?

Maybe because there wasn't anything to forgive? He was putting Hermione through an awful lot by blaming her for spending more time in the library than with him, though she didn't know this was what was bothering him.

He reached the front doors of the castle and pushed on one of the giant doors. It seemed to make an enormous grunt as it opened. He walked out and the door swung shut behind him. Repositioning his bag on his back, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk through the courtyard.

When he was completely honest with himself, Harry knew his frustration stemmed from the accumulation of a year's worth of denial. The ministry refused to believe Voldemort had returned, and now there was a servant of his inside the castle threatening…who knew what? Kristopher could be planning any number of things. He was a grown man in a boy's body, he was probably reading as much as he could on how he could bypass the laws of the Hogwarts grounds. Why had Voldemort needed two of his servants inside Hogwarts? What position was Kristopher fulfilling that Snape could not have?

As he walked through the overhang on the far side of the courtyard, he stopped suddenly in midstride as a memory came back to him. A greasy, black head, a low drawling voice: "Without friends, Potter is nothing."

Snape's voice came back to him in a whirling punch to the gut. Was that true? Was he nothing without his friends. Without thinking, he turned to look behind him. The courtyard was deserted, except for a small first year boy whose bag had split and he frantically raced around to catch the papers that were being blown about by the wind. His friends weren't behind him now, they weren't walking out the door and running after him. Did he need his friends? Snape seemed to think that his friends were his weakness. Or did he think that Harry was more vulnerable without them?

Either way, Harry could not see how he could win this battle of wits. Snape was gone, so any attempt to prove himself in one way or another was trumped by the fact that his pride still kept him from apologizing to Hermione. And now Ron.

_Without friends, Potter is nothing_.

Why did that bother him so? Why did it bother him that Snape thought his friends were the key to his own survival? Then again, that was Snape's assessment of Harry's life, of which he had absolutely no idea. Snape didn't know what it was like to be brought up by muggles, starved to sickness at times, and given absolutely no affection by the only family he had left. The man was stupid and ignorant and judged Harry based on his father, who had grown up adored, most likely, by his pureblood parents.

Harry watched the boy stuff the last book into his bag and run in through the double doors, then turned and walked out onto the grounds. He thought a rainstorm would be welcoming right now, something to justify the mood he was in.

His mind drifted to Sirius and Lupin, two of his fathers best friends, the only two that had remained loyal to him. The blithering idiot Peter Pettigrew had been slashed off the moment he had betrayed the secret location of the Potter's hiding place, and had, from the moment Harry learned the truth, put on Harry's bad side. Sirius and Lupin had stood by his father up until the time he died, and his father by them. They were in the Order together, they had been through so much by the time James died…were they a crutch to James?

Shaking his head, realizing that he may never know the answer to that, Harry paused as he felt something wet hit his cheek. Looking up, he watched as what looked like a hoard of blue and gray daggers came hurdling to the ground in soft pellets. Rain poured over him, drenching him within seconds. That was what he needed, he needed something to wash over him and relieve the squeaking cogs in his mind. Something to cleanse him on the outside, to strip him of the shell he'd built up so quickly, and so painfully.

Thinking only briefly about how much he would regret it in the morning, Harry laid down on the grass and spread out his arms and legs so the rain would hit him evenly. It was beautiful, watching the rain pour down onto his body, onto his face, in a methodical rhythm that, regardless of the beat of his heart, always seemed to be in sync.

"I'm sorry," he said out loud, feeling instantly stupid. He closed his eyes and saw Hermione there, sitting and staring at him, looking so hurt and confused. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Then something made a squishing noise beside him and he opened his eyes and turned his head to see Hermione lying down on her back next to him. He sat up and stared at her, she was completely drenched, too. She was giving him an expression that was too sympathetic, too knowing.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked, putting one hand behind her head to keep her hair out of the mud.

Harry sighed, "You."


	17. Chapter 17

It had been about a month since they'd received Dumbledore's letter, telling them to wait on doing anything about Kristopher, and they felt as though they'd crawled by. Several more DA meetings had taken place, and the majority of the group could successfully produce a patronus now. Hermione's was an otter, which Harry found fitting. He could remember back to a lesson during his years at his muggle school all about animals and their roles in other cultures when his teacher, Ms. Norwalk, mentioned that, among many others, the otter was a totem animal of Native American cultures. An animal that watches over and assists its people. He couldn't remember why he remembered this random detail, but he could see, vividly, Ms. Norwalk showing them a totem pole and explaining the use of the totem pole for ancient peoples.

Harry's mood swings had become less frequent, and by the third or fourth, Hermione and Ron had developed a system of handling it. It would usually begin at breakfast, Harry brooding over how there was nothing he could do about Kristopher and repeating everything he could remember about the Deaging Potion.

"Full moon," he would mutter, stuffing kippers or toast frantically into his mouth, "painful, you better hope to god it's painful." Most of the time his comment would have something to do with how little they saw of him, and he would whip out the Marauder's Map to find him. Usually he was in the library, but once or twice they'd found it odd that he was in the company of Draco Malfoy. Never a good sign, unless he was getting the crap beaten out of him. Harry had never made it to their location in time to catch what was going on, however, so their curious confrontations remained a mystery.

When Harry got into these moods and ramblings, Hermione would immediately respond and say something about patience being a virtue, then Ron would slip him a nosebleed nougat, or a fainting fancy, to try and loosen him up. The first time they tried it, Harry had thrown a fit and skived off Divination, but after the second time, he began to find it amusing, and almost as cleansing as the rainfall had been the first time he needed a brainwash.

It was a Friday evening and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the common room, pouring over their notes and textbooks. In only a couple weeks time they would be sitting in the most important exams of their magical education and it was absolutely vital for them to do as well as they could.

Both Harry and Ron had long since given up on passing Divination. The examiners would probably ask them to read tea leaves or palms and they would make up a bunch of crap because they had no "inner eye." Neither was very concerned, neither wanted to go on with the subject. Instead, they spent the extra time they gained from not studying for Divination to study for Potions, undoubtedly the most difficult exam they would have to pass. After having Professor Snape for four and a half years, they had very little time to catch up on both confidence and knowledge that Snape had not allowed them. It was much easier to sit through a Potions lesson with Sir Nicholas at the front of the classroom than Snape, however.

Every time they left the dungeon after a lesson with the Gryffindor ghost, Ron would reenact the lesson with so much vigor he seemed to be straining it. The first couple times it was knee slapping hilarious, but he'd kept doing it and both Harry and Hermione had found it wearing.

Hermione had the most notes and books in front of her, as always, and was always shifting them in front of her; sometimes using her wand to grab sheets that had flown out of her reach, and sometimes getting to her feet, stretching simultaneously. Harry would watch her as she got up, her curves bending in all the right places to retrieve pieces of paper; the small areas of skin that would show when she stretched her arms over her head. She was so oblivious, so caught up in her studying, that she only noticed him once. She had shot him a smile, then blushed, sitting back down quickly. It had been so long since they'd had time together, anybody watching them might have thought they'd broken up.

Suddenly, Hermione's voice broke the silence that had taken up the better part of an hour. "Have you boys set up an appointment with Professor McGonagall to discuss your career options?" She looked back and forth from Ron to Harry, looking as though she clearly needed a break from studying.

Ron, sitting in one of the big fluffy armchairs, his eyes slightly dazed, seemed to snap out of a trance and gladly shut the book propped upside down on his lap. "Appointment? Oh, right. Yeah, McGonagall told me to come tomorrow. But I have no idea what I want to do. I mean, Charlie, Bill, and Fred and George have covered the basics. And Percy has done enough for all of us combined," he added gruffly.

Hermione looked at Harry, "What about you?"

Harry nodded, "My appointment is tomorrow, too." He received two blank stares, his friends expecting him to continue. "Well, I've been thinking about it, and, especially after DA meetings and stuff, I was thinking it might be cool to come back here a few years after I finish and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." A short silence followed, and when neither Ron or Hermione said anything, he added, "This has always been my real home, and if Voldemort is defeated by that point, then I can't see anything I'd rather do than help people defend themselves against more uprisings of dark lords."

"You're a really good teacher," Ron said, sharing a nod with Hermione. "I've learned more with you than Umbridge, at least. The only teacher that probably taught us a damn was Lupin."

Hermione nodded. "Everyone thinks so. I heard from Padma Patil that Cho really regrets leaving." She blushed suddenly, and looked away. Ron sniggered, but didn't say anything.

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked, shutting his own book realizing that any further studying at the moment would be fruitless.

Hermione shrugged. "I had my meeting yesterday. McGonagall said I could do just about whatever I wanted…" her face turned pink again, "but I think that I might like to work at the Ministry, either in the Department for International Cooperation or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"So you could persuade everyone to join spew?" Ron asked, with the slightest bit of retort in his voice, but a snicker tied onto the end of his sentence.

"S.P.E.W. Ron! And no, because, well, I believe that the wizarding world has taken power a bit too far. In many ways, what we do to magical creatures is no different than what Voldemort is doing to Muggle-borns." Hermione crossed her arms and looked away from Ron, into the fire.

Harry thought, on the one hand, that this would be perfect for her. Hermione did seem to take an ambition where other people didn't, and, to say the least, someone had to do the job.

"Why International Cooperation?" Harry asked, curiously.

Once again, Hermione's face turned pink; her voice went higher and a bit squeakier than usual, and began talking really fast. "Well, all through last year I kept insisting that everything associated with the TriWizard Tournament was to develop bonds between international wizards, but when no one really seemed to agree with me, I got to thinking that the whole tournament was more involved with competition than cooperation." She paused, glancing at Harry through the corner of her eyes. He didn't seem to be reacting badly, so she looked at him and continued. "Now, Harry, don't take this the wrong way, but when I spent time with Viktor, it made me think that if other people could get to know people like him, they'd understand why international cooperation is so vital."

Harry did his best to keep his voice level, but even his sharpened and toned Occlumency skills couldn't keep the hint of jealousy from his words. "Oh yeah? Why is that?"

Sheepishly, Hermione looked away. "Well, because there's nothing like having friends in other parts of the world. To know that if you were stuck in a rut near where your friend lived and the wizards in that part of the world could come to your aid is more rewarding than feeling protective and prideful of your own country or school."

Harry's heart, which had begun pounding fairly quickly when Hermione mentioned Viktor, seemed to slow down when she used _friend_, but it didn't completely disappear. He had to admit, though, the competition of the TriWizard Tournament did seem to take over everyone's mind, and cooperation never felt like the center of the games. By the end of the maze, the only cooperation was between the Hogwarts students, and even that didn't prove to be successful. Many nights back on Privat Drive, he wished that he wouldn't have insisted Cedric, too, grab to cup. But that was neither here nor there.

Silence drifted into their conversation again, and although the buzz of other Gryffindor's around them didn't allow the common room complete peace, they felt alone. There couldn't be anything better, Harry thought, than to know your best friends are on your side in times like this. He glanced at Ron, who was clearly mesmerized by the fire, and smiled inwardly. There was a lot he knew he could do, but without Ron, none of it seemed possible. Ron was the one who sat with him on the first trip to Hogwarts, he was with him during the sorting, and they'd lived in the same room for five years, which was not counting the holidays that Harry spent with the Weasley's.

Cooperation within international wizards could wait, as long as Ron was on his side. Not having him on his side before the first task last year had been dreadful, and always as helpful as Hermione was, Ron was a guy. He could understand Harry without blinking.

"So what now?" Ron said, only asking with the partial expectation of receiving an answer. As he expected, both Harry and Hermione gave him a small shrug, and continued to stare into the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It had been a week since the commotion with the death eaters and the Minister of Magic's visit to the castle, and yet, none of them could quite seem to understand where they fit into the outer workings of the wizarding world.

"Do you mean, do we still wait?" Harry asked.

"Wait? For Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, prying her eyes from the fire to look at him.

Before Ron could answer, a loud shout from the other side of the common room rent their ears.

"Oy! Ron!" it was Angelina, looking furious. "Quidditch practice, you dolt!" She turned and walked back out the portrait where she had obviously just entered moments ago.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like practice can help the turmoil we're in." He sighed. "Regardless, I completely forgot we had practice today."

"Isn't the match next week?" Harry asked.

"Yep," Ron said, getting to his feet. "Well," he looked at the mess of his study materials, "I dunno, you guys going to stay here? Can I leave my stuff?"

Harry nodded. "We'll watch it," he said, Hermione nodding in sync. Ron smiled, turned, and walked glumly towards the portrait hole. "It's been raining all week," Harry said, sympathetically, "they're going to have a right fun time."

Hermione laughed. "Maybe," she said, getting up from her spot and placing her books on the floor, "if we're lucky we'll get a thunderstorm."

A look of panic crossed over Harry's face. "Are you mental?" he asked, letting her sit herself on his lap. "I hate bloody thunderstorms." She looked a little disappointed, then he suddenly understood what she actually meant, and smiled. "Oh, I see." He leaned over and kissed her.

They heard a giggled from behind Hermione and Harry looked to see two first year girls running away from them, one looking back with a broad grin on her face.

"Trying to get some tips, are they?" Harry asked, pretending to puff out his chest.

"God," Hermione said, letting her hand rest on Harry's chest, "do you realize how long it has been since we've kissed?"

Harry shut his eyes and let his whole body feel the touch of her hand on his chest. "I know it's been too long," he said, his eyes still shut. While they were closed, he felt her lips press against his again and a warm prickle spread like the body bind jinx across his skin. When she pulled away, a smile spread across his face. "I feel like we're being indecent," he said with a smirk, "like everyone can see every single one of my hairs stand on end when you do that."

Hermione giggled. Harry hadn't heard her giggle in a long time, realizing then that he loved that sound more than anything in the world right now, that if he could just get her giggle to play over and over in his mind that he could be happy indefinitely.

She leaned down so that her mouth was right next to his ear. "Well, it's not like we've taken off our clothes," she whispered, "I think we're alright."

Images suddenly flew into Harry's mind and his eyes shot open. She noticed this and laughed, again, then sank into the chair with him. He smiled, liking the images that came to mind, and let her settle comfortably into the crook of his shoulder.


	18. Chapter 18

AN: If you are jumping here, thinking I've just added nine new chapters...I have, but you really want to read it all over again because I have seriously rewritten it. I was not very pleased and I think this one is a bit better. The Antiquity will be coming soon, now.

---

Sunday morning dawned in a haze of bright flashes and loud rumblings that shook the castle walls. Shrieks of ancient structures creaked under the sudden shifting of atmospheric pressures cascading down the enormous building. The dramatic swaying of trees did nothing to calm the students. Every time a loud crack resounded above them, the busy knots of students chatting would stop abruptly, and all eyes would flitter from the window to the ceiling precariously.

No one was in doubt that the magical protection Hogwarts bestowed would hold, but the eerie sounds of stretching wood and roof tiles flying off did nothing to squelch the lumps forming in their throats.

Harry jumped out of bed the moment he awoke, hardly believing he had slept through a thunderstorm. _Then again_, he thought darkly, _it could have been that flash of lightning that woke me up_. He glanced over at Ron, who was snoring audibly and seemed to have no problem with the noises overhead. Kristopher, who was to the right of Ron, stirred restlessly, but remained asleep. Harry gritted his teeth and shot a dirty look in his general direction.

Slightly depressed that Hermione hadn't come to him for comfort, missing gut-wrenchingly the night they had first hooked up, Harry pulled off his pajamas and dressed hastily. He grabbed the Marauder's Map, his invisibility cloak, and an extra sweater, then headed down to the common room. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do with them, but it was too early for breakfast. Instinctively, he glanced at his watch. Five-thirty a.m. He couldn't remember the last time he had been awake that early.

Slowly and quietly, Harry crept across the dormitory, opened the door, and shut it behind him so that there was the softest of clicks as it fastened back into place, then turned to the steps leading to the common room. As he turned he nearly ran over someone who had walked headlong into him. He opened his mouth to gasp, but a small, soft hand reached up and covered his mouth and his gasp turned into air being forced back down his windpipe.

Hermione stood there, her hand over his mouth, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"Hermione!" he whispered hoarsely, his chest still recovering from near heart failure. "What the hell?"

"I couldn't handle it any longer," she whispered back, grabbing his hand with the one that had just vacated his mouth, and led him down the steps. She veered him towards the couch and he sat down, pulling her into his arms. "I didn't think about asking for your invisibility cloak last night and for the last two hours I was too frightened that someone in your room would see me come in and get the wrong idea. But I finally couldn't handle it."

"You've been awake for two hours?" Harry asked, half concerned, half amused.

"Don't laugh!" she said, staring into the still red hot, smoking embers at the bottom of the fireplace. "I was traumatized as a child, thunderstorms have never been the same."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his tone changing to mere interest.

Hermione sighed. "It's stupid, really, but when I was seven my best friend from down the street was sleeping over at my house and there was a thunderstorm. We were having fun talking about the cloud people bowling or fighting and throwing lightning bolts at each other." She paused, smiling in fond memory. "But then the rumbling died off and we were drifting off to sleep when our town was hit by three tornadoes."

Harry's mouth dropped. "Talk about hiding the punch line," he said under his breath, feeling that her anticlimactic build towards the whole point of the story was not nearly emphasized enough. "What happened?"

"Well, our town was torn apart," she said, shuddering, "my house was only one of five that remained mostly in tact. We lost our garage, exposing a small section of the side of the house, but that was it, remarkably."

"God," said Harry, "that would scare anyone."

She nodded. "The thunderstorm wasn't scary then," said Hermione, "but it was like the calm before the storm, and ever since I haven't been able to sit through a storm without remembering what happened after it."

"I was wondering," Harry said, after a couple minutes, watching smoke rise in small circles from the hot ash in from of them, "why you came to my bed instead of Ron's." It had been something that had been bothering him for a while. He could just have easily been upset with Hermione and Ron for what Ron had been upset at them for. She didn't say anything for several minutes and Harry could almost feel her grasping for words.

Finally, she spoke. "Well," she cleared her throat, "do I really need a reason?" She was silent for another moment, letting Harry think about what she just said. "I mean, it's not like I stood outside deliberating between you and Ron. I just walked right to you."

Harry nodded, accepting her response. It was a silly question and very hard to answer, but she worded her response well. They fell into silence again.

Hermione sat up suddenly and looked around on the place she had been sitting. "What the hell am I sitting on?" she asked, finding the invisibility cloak and pulling it out of Harry's pocket. "This was very uncomfortable on my back," she explained. Then she held it in her hands, looking at it curiously. "What have you got your cloak for?"

Harry shrugged. "I was up so early…I just grabbed it and the map, like an instinct," he said, watching her unfold the cloak and sift it through her hands. "But Kristopher is still in bed," he growled. He saw Hermione avert her eyes, feeling her twitch involuntarily, but didn't say anything. She had long since stopped responding to Harry's more than obvious impatience with Kristopher's freedom, but whether it was his own persistence or simply sheer hope, he thought that Hermione had been growing more aware of how dangerous the whole situation was, or as it seemed to Harry. Not to mention the fact that he'd noticed Kristopher talking to Malfoy in increasing amounts over the past week, and Kristopher, unfortunately, didn't look bloody or beaten up whatsoever, eliminating the possibility of being on Malfoy's bad side.

But, of course, whenever he tried to show the map to Hermione or Ron, they would sigh and wave him off like his observations were nothing. This made Harry so frustrated at times that the nose bleed nougat in his breakfast, their attempt to distract him, drove him to the hospital wing to get out of the next class with them.

"It doesn't help any when you and Ron act like I'm going insane," Harry said softly, trying not to sound too unhappy but also emphasizing the point that he thought there was seriously something going on with Kristopher.

Hermione looked at him. "What?" She obviously hadn't been following his thought progress.

"I know you don't think there is anything to my suspicions about Malfoy and Kristopher," he said, still trying to remain even tempered, "but instead of supporting me, both you and Ron have been acting like I'm going insane. It makes me more upset and does absolutely nothing to squelch my suspicions."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, Harry could feel her heartbeat quicken. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, "I never thought of it that way." She had looked away from him. "But I can see why you think there's something fishy going on," Hermione continued, "I mean, a Voldemort supporter and a notorious Harry-hater meeting up in secret…"

"A Harry-hater?" Harry asked, amused. "What, they have a group now?"

Hermione blushed. "You know what I mean. Anyway, I really can see why you're suspicious, but it's been weeks since Kristopher attacked you and they have done absolutely nothing. Malfoy has been his usual piggy self, but Kristopher has steered clear of you in all respects."

Harry gritted his teeth. "That's what worries me!" he insisted. "We don't go parading around Dumbledore's Army to the Slytherins, do we? Why should they reveal their plans to us?"

"But what could they possibly be planning?" Hermione asked, exasperatedly. "They're just students, they aren't death eaters."

"Kristopher very well could be," Harry said, his tone becoming increasingly edgy. "He's a grown man stuck in his fifteen year old body."

"You don't know that for sure," Hermione said, "you only saw that because Kristopher's legilimens backfired on you. Maybe it wasn't even one of his real memories, maybe it was something he planted in order to make you paranoid."

"Paranoid of what? I know I'm not that experienced at Occlumency, Hermione, but I'm not completely inept. The book explains what a backfired legilimens curse feels like. In any case, you saw the look on his face after I jumped up and caught him, how can he fake that? What would be the point in faking the whole thing?" Harry's voice had risen, his frustration seeping out uncontrollably. Pain seared through his head as a loud crack resounded about the castle and another flash of light illuminated the common room.

"Lower your voice," Hermione whispered harshly, sitting up and moving herself so that she was no longer directly touching him, but she clearly had nothing else to say, no retort. She was thinking, but not saying what she was thinking.

"Just say it," Harry said, his voice returning to an even tone of indifference.

She hesitated, barely looking at him through the corner of her eye. "It just seems silly, that's all, that Kristopher would go through the trouble of taking this Deaging potion when he could kidnap anyone in this school, take some polyjuice potion, and take their spot. Chances would be that he could even get right into your inner circle." Hermione turned to look at him warily. "I never meant I didn't believe what you'd seen," she said, apologetically, "but I've been going over the likelihood in my head…"

"Dumbledore doesn't seem to have a problem believing me," Harry retorted, cutting her off.

"Dumbledore has been gone for almost two months!" Hermione said, her voice rising with each syllable. Harry pressed a finger to his lips and she glared at him, as though it was her job to regulate the loudness of the room.

They sat and glared at each other for a couple minutes, before they looked away at the same time. Harry felt foolish. Of course, Hermione did not see what he saw when Kristopher attacked him, nor did she see what he saw in Snape's memory, or hear what he said to Lord Voldemort: _Without his friends, Potter is nothing._ He still hadn't told her about that, and it felt like it was eating away at him. Sometimes, he deeply desired to break away from his friends to be able to prove that he was capable of handling everything on his own. But then it worried him that Snape might be right. If he was confronted with Lord Voldemort alone and could not handle him, not only would he fail in avenging the deaths of his parents and killing the most infamous dark lord of all time, but he would be dead, unable to further the anti-Voldemort movement whatsoever.

Hermione seemed to sense that Harry was contemplating something he had not told her. "I know I didn't see those memories of Kristopher's," she said, softly, "but if there is something substantial here, something that I cannot see because I do not know, you need to tell me so I can help you. That's what friends are for."

He looked at her. She was staring at him with piercing sympathy, as though she could see straight into his heart and acknowledge everything he wanted to accomplish. His deepest desires were hidden even from him, however, even he did not know what he truly wanted. Of course he wanted vengeance for his parents, but he had many times contemplated the fact that there was very little he could do. How could he, an under-aged incompetent wizard, attempt to defeat Lord Voldemort?

Their gaze was broken by Harry, who decided the portrait on the wall of an old man sleeping in his arm chair was more due his blank stare. Hermione, though, kept her eyes on him, like she was trying to tear back layer after layer of his mind.

Finally, after several moments of silence, Harry spoke. "Even…even if you don't believe me, wouldn't it be worth contemplating or discussing what Kristopher might be planning _if_ I am correct?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Harry went on, "that if the memories he gave me indicate that he is here on Voldemort's orders he must be up to something larger than breaking up a friendhip. His original plan undoubtedly must have been to drive a wedge between you, me, and Ron…"

"But we drove that wedge, Harry," Hermione interrupted. "You and I, I mean."

"Don't you remember what Ron said at Christmas, though?" Harry insisted. "He said that he was just digging himself deeper, that he really wanted to reconcile. Kristopher was feeding him." He dug his thumbs into his palms, remembering the gut-wrenching pain of Ron's face when he'd first found them curled up on the couch together.

Hermione shrugged. "I guess so…"

"Anyway," Harry said, before she could go further, "his original plan was squashed, so he needs another one. Voldemort can't just parade in here and snatch me up."

A look of horror tore across Hermione's face. "Don't say that, Harry," she said, wincing.

He raised his eyebrows. "We both know it's true," he said quietly, "he's not going to stop hunting me until I'm dead. Or until someone kills him, which doesn't seem very likely considering the state of the Ministry." Hermione looked sallow at Harry's words, as though she was beginning to understand the personal terror Harry was feeling.

"Is that what you're scared of?" she asked, reaching to grab his hand. "Dying?"

He let her take his hand, squeezing it back. "I'm not scared of death," he said, letting his mind reel. _At least, I think I'm not scared of death_, he thought. "But I don't like to be hunted and not doing anything about it. Sometimes it feels ridiculous that I am still at school when I should be out hunting him. At least it would feel like I am doing something."

Hermione's hands were cold, Harry thought they were close to how his mind felt. Her hands, and his mind, felt out of use. He needed to be doing something.

\//

"Alright then," Ron said, standing up, "we'll go in shifts. I'll start." He reached for the cloak next to Harry, but Harry held up his hand.

"How can we go in shifts?" Harry asked, confused. "If we find something important, how the hell are we going to let the other two know?" All three thought hard for a moment, Ron suspended in the middle of his reach for the cloak.

"There's always the protean charm," Hermione suggested, looking up from her own revere. "I could enchant something else."

"Can we get tattoos?" Ron asked eagerly. "Like the death eaters? But instead of a skull and snake, let's get Harry's scar!" He laughed, and Harry joined him.

"I am not getting a tattoo," Hermione said, not laughing, "my parents, and probably yours, Ron, would murder us if we did that."

"Isn't there something else besides the protean charm?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Maybe if we just use the galleons Hermione already charmed, we can get the whole of the DA to come to our aid," Ron offered, "everyone would get the chance to put what we've learned to use, right under Umbridge's nose."

Harry shrugged. "I guess that would work," he thought for a moment, "but do we really need thirty people against one?"

"For now," Hermione said, cutting in, "let's just use the galleons because we've got no better option. I'll see what I can find. But we don't even know if we can take action, we're just looking for information right now, I don't think we'll need to contact each other."

"Right, then," Ron said, straightening up. "Sounds like a plan to me." He looked at Harry. "Can I still take the first shift, then?"

"Two hours ago you were insisting that I was losing my marbles," Harry said, somewhat suspiciously. "What's changed?"

Ron grinned. "Mate, I always think you are losing your marbles," he shrugged, "but I guess you're right. Your instincts are usually really accurate and we haven't been giving you enough credit. If it means this much to you to follow the little git around, I will gladly tail him. Plus, this invisibility cloak is so much fun to hide under. About the only times I can ever pull one over on Fred and George."

"Let's not lose sight of our goal now," Hermione reminded him, as Harry handed Ron the cloak and the map. "Don't do anything else besides follow him," she added, lowering her voice as a couple fourth year girls walked very close to them, eyeing Harry's back. Ginny was not among them.

"I know, I know," Ron said, sighing and throwing the cloak over him. "I'll behave." When he was completely invisible, they heard him mutter, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and then a rustle of papers. "Alright, see you two in a couple hours. Hermione, you'll go next, I'll find you on the map."

"I've got to finish my transfiguration essay," she said, "I will probably be in the library. After I'm done with that, I'll see if I can find a better way to communicate inside the grounds." She stood up, hoisting her bag onto her back. "I'll let you out of the portrait hole, Ron, so it doesn't look funny that no one walks out. Harry, do you want to come to the library with me?" she looked back at him.

"No, I think I'll stay here," he said thoughtfully, knowing perfectly well that much of his anger over the past month had been because he and Hermione had been spending less time together. "My head hurts and the library makes that worse."

She eyed him skeptically, but nodded. "Okay, well, come find me if you change your mind." She turned back to where Ron had disappeared. "Ready?" she asked.

"I'm over here," Ron's voice whispered from her left. She gave a start, then shot a kick in his general direction. "Ouch! Nice aim. Yep, I'm ready. Let's go." Harry watched them walk away and disappear around the corner to where the portrait hole was, feeling a surge of relief that they had finally taken him seriously and were now actively working at uncovering the mystery of Kristopher Alec. Or whatever his name was. It surely couldn't be his real name. If he was in the inner circle of Lord Voldemort, his name must be known among the Ministry, like the other death eaters that had broken out of Azkaban.

Harry slid down into his armchair and shut his eyes, not sure he wanted to begin his own transfiguration essay. He'd gotten up so early that although it was only a little past noon, he felt ready for bed. Even though Hermione looked at him as though it wasn't His headache excuse was real, the prickling of his scar making it worse. Why he would lie when, if he had gone to the library, Hermione might have done his essay for him. He itched, for a moment, to run after her. But even when he opened his eyes, the light from all around him pierced his temples and he was forced to shut them again.

How nice it would be to just shut off his brain for a while, not worry about OWLs, transfiguration, Kristopher, Voldemort…just to sit here amongst a crowd of people doing their own thing. To just exist without being Harry Potter the Liar, or Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived. To be anyone else, someone without a scar. Someone Voldemort wasn't hunting.

Before he knew it Harry had drifted to sleep, the racket around him slowly hushed and then eliminated, and the common room turning into a darker, much narrower corridor. It was long, lit only by torches, and he was walking towards the door on the far end. He wanted to go through, he wanted to see what was behind it. He needed something from that room. What did he need?

Suddenly, he was ripped from the corridor and was, instead, looking at two men kneeling before him. They wouldn't look at him, they were looking at the floor. One man was very hairy, and looked more like a rodent than a man. From his right hand protruded a silvery metal cast that formed the appearance of a normal, flesh hand. He was gasping for breath and wheezing, droplets of spit were cascading down his chin and dripping onto the cold cement floor. Next to him was a larger, darker man who was not shivering in fear as the other, but bowing in a deep reverence. He lifted his head to look up at the figure standing in front of him, neither man nor beast, malicious as a creature without a soul and mind to communicate.

"My lord, you called on us?" the second man asked, a note of excitement in his voice. The rodent man shook violently next to him.

"Yes, Brookgard, I called you," Lord Voldemort said, each word a prolonged, slow hiss. "Wormtail, will you not look at me?"

Wormtail barely lifted his head, but let his eyes walk up the man's long, black cloak, hidden by the darkness of the room. His eyes met the small, red slits on Voldemort's face and he quickly looked away again, shivering and muttering incoherently. Voldemort laughed, his wicked, non humorous laugh. It took up air and any heat left inside the cold, damp room.

"As you are aware," Voldemort began, taking it in stride to walk back and forth across the room, "my first in command has been defeated, obviously undertaking a position too difficult for him. My source at Hogwarts informed me it was, in fact, Harry Potter who killed him, a feat I thought was not possible for the boy."

"Yes, we heard, my lord," Brookgard said, still looking longingly into the eyes of his master.

Voldemort stopped pacing and stared at the man, still kneeling on the ground. Brookgard shut his mouth and bowed his head again, apologizing for the interruption and begging his master to continue.

"Time is running thin," Voldemort continued, "and before long all will be in place and the end will draw near for Harry Potter. But we still have much to do! My source has his hands full. I need you, Brookgard, to now pursue the plan we spoke of last time, down to the last, most minute detail."

"Of course, my lord. It will be done," Brookgard said, getting to his feet.

Voldemort shifted his gaze to the cowering Wormtail. "As for you, Wormtail, I have a different task for you." Out of his cloak, Voldemort pulled his thin, white wand and pointed at a door nearly concealed by the darkness; it flew open. "Through this door you will find your assignment." Wormtail hurriedly got to his feet, bowing repeatedly as he left the presence of the dark lord.

"Before long, Harry Potter will be dead and my reign will be free and clear," Voldemort whispered, his back to the other men in the room. "Before long, the silly boy will understand why there is such a need to avoid death because he will, oh yes, he will meet it…and finally see the irreversibility of its close."

\//

"Harry! Harry!" someone was shaking him awake. "Harry! Wake up!" Hands slapped him on the chest and face as Harry's eyes flickered open. Without thinking, he whipped a hand to his scar and clutched at it desperately. A hot, burning pain was pulsating from it, his forehead was cold and wet and he felt a dry itch at the back of his throat.

Realizing he was on the floor, Harry sat up, needing to turn slightly for he was on his side. Ginny was standing over him, looking horrified.

"Ginny?" he looked at her, his eyes out of focus. "What happened?" he felt his face and couldn't feel his glasses. He was about to reach a hand out to find them when two very soft hands put them on for him.

"You fell out of your chair," Ginny whispered, her voice hoarse. "I thought you had just fallen asleep, but you kept muttering and twitching. It was really scary." Harry let his eyes adjust to his glasses, then looked around. The common room was mostly empty, except for a few people, including Fred and George, sitting in the corner tables.

"What time is it?" he asked, ignoring Ginny's implied question.

Ginny picked up his arm and looked at his watch, her fingers being gentle with his wrist. "About five," she responded. "I was just about to go down to dinner when I saw you fall," she repeated, "what happened, Harry? Did you have a nightmare?"

Harry looked at her, seeing nothing but concern etched across her face. He attempted a smile, but all he felt was cold sweat covering his body. "Something like that," he said. Her brown eyes pierced him, searching his green ones for the truth. He didn't know Ginny all that well, but she seemed to know where to look in his eyes. Or perhaps, she knew where she wanted to look?

Harry averted his eyes as he suddenly felt sick. A horrible pain gripped at his stomach and he stood, using the chair behind him for support.

"Whoa," Ginny said, also taking his arm to help, "don't get up so fast." She stood and helped him to his feet. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"Bathroom…" Harry muttered. Ginny let go of his arm and he ran towards the stairs of the boys dormitory, flung himself up one flight and then dove into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before spilling out the contents of his stomach. Wrenching once more, he slid backwards against the divider and slumped to the ground, feeling the cold sweat engulf him once again.


	19. Chapter 19

Half an hour after Harry had cleaned himself up and made certain he would not be sick again, he made his way down to the great hall for supper. He didn't feel hungry in the least, but knew that his shift to keep an eye on Kristopher was next and he wanted to hear if there had been any news yet. He had spent the time cleaning himself up thinking about the dream before being woken by Ginny. He could remember Voldemort and Wormtail, but it wasn't very clear. He couldn't remember what they were doing or planning, and he couldn't remember the third man. But there had definitely been a third man.

The walk to the great hall was a quick one because he was so lost in thought. Down the Gryffindor table he passed Ginny, who gave him a deep look of concern, but he hardly acknowledged it before dropping himself into a seat next to Hermione.

"You look awful!" she said, reaching up to feel his forehead. "My god, you're burning up! What happened, Harry?" She grabbed the jug of pumpkin juice and poured him a glass, offering it to him. He took a long swig, but still didn't feel the color return to his face. How could he be burning up when he felt so cold?

"Dream," Harry managed to say, then took another drink from his glass.

Hermione leaned forward on her arm so she could look at him better. She placed a hand on his back and rubbed it, as though consoling him. "A nightmare?" she asked, her tone indicating that she didn't really think so.

He shook his head, feeling ashamed. He had closed the portal into Voldemort's mind for over two months, he hadn't dreamt of the corridor since he'd returned to Hogwarts. But now, all of a sudden it seemed, it had been reopened.

"You were bound to let your guard down," Hermione said quietly, "with everything that has been on your mind recently—"

"This should have nothing to do with what's been on my mind!" Harry said, frustrated more with himself than with her. She might be saying it, but he knew it was true, and his flare of anger was directed towards the fact of truth, though the look in her eyes made him think she took it personally. "Occlumency is a lifestyle," he said through gritted teeth, "it's not about concentration…it's about deliberation."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Hermione said, still rubbing his back. "It will come."

"But why can't it be now. I'm sick of dreaming of that damn corridor. This time…" he lowered his voice and looked around, "the dream was accompanied by Voldemort's emotions. He wants something behind that door, he needs it desperately."

Hermione looked horrified. "That isn't good, Harry. If you are starting to feel his emotions along with it, doesn't that mean the connection is deepening?" Harry didn't answer, he knew she had a point. Hermione's hand went still on his back as she changed the subject at top speed, expecting another outburst. "Where is it? The corridor, I mean. Have you figured it out yet?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered, thinking hard. "I've never seen it before…" his voice trailed off. It had to be easily accessible if Mr. Weasley could be in it. Then something occurred to him and he looked up and glanced around. "Where's Ron? Weren't you supposed to trade over two hours ago?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know where he is," she said with a shrug and a frown. "I waited in the library until four-thirty, thinking he might still show up, but I haven't seen him since we parted outside the fat lady. I assume he was in the library, hidden under the cloak, because Kristopher was there." She shook her head. "He is probably just following him around and got carried away," she thought for a moment, "or else he's in a place that he can't get out of without being noticed and needs to wait for someone to cover his exit."

She turned back to her food, but Harry noticed a wary gleem in her eye and she held her jaw a bit tighter than she would if she was truly not worried about it. His stomach ached, but it wasn't about to be sick. For some reason it pained him to see Hermione worry about Ron, even though they'd all been best friends for five years. Girls tended to worry more, he knew that, but even so the look on her face made his heart hurt and he wondered vainly if she ever looked that way while worrying about him. Harry turned to look at Ginny, who was talking to another fourth year sitting across from her. She noticed him looking and smiled, he smiled back.

When he looked back at Hermione, he found that she had been staring at him, her mouth pursed. "What was that?" she asked, shooting an unfriendly look at Ginny.

Harry felt his face go red. "What? Nothing," he said, feeling the color deepen with the lie. Should he tell her that Ginny was the one who had found him on the ground, muttering in his sleep? Maybe the half truth would suffice. "She woke me up before I came down here," he said, innocently. Her look became even more stern that he felt the truth bubble right up and form the words in his mouth before he could hold them back. "She said that I had fallen off my chair and was muttering and twitching." He locked eyes with her and let his eyes tell her that he was telling the truth.

"But all you were doing was walking down a corridor," she said, the words only coming out of a thin slit that was her mouth.

Harry could think of nothing to do but shrug. "Who knows what really happens when Voldemort possess me," he said, throwing it off his back, "what's the big deal, anyway?"

Hermione looked horrified at his comment, then shook her head. "Nevermind. Are you going to eat? Because if not, we should go find Ron. You know, open doors and stuff to see if he needs to come out."

"Where would we even begin?" Harry asked, incredulously. "He could be anywhere!"

Hermione shrugged. "We can walk then," she smiled, trying to bypass the awkwardness that had settled between them. He liked that idea and stood up, offering her his hand and helping her off the bench. "Good, this will be nice. A nice walk before classes tomorrow. Do you realize it's only three weeks until we take our OWLs?" she sounded absolutely excited, as though tests for her were Quidditch for Harry.

Harry shook his head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, noticing as he did, out of the corner of his eye, Ginny watch them closely. He pretended not to notice, focused his attention on Hermione, and walked out of the great hall with her.

\\//

Hermione and Harry had given up their search for Ron after an hour, knowing they'd never really be able to find him as he had both the map and the cloak, and went back to the common room. Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch next to Harry while he stayed awake, through the bleary haze that had formed in front of his eyes, to write his essay for transfiguration the next day.

"Where the hell have you been?" Hermione whispered hoarsely, sitting up and rubbing her eyes groggily.

Harry, who hadn't noticed what Hermione had awoken to, put down his quill and parchment as Ron appeared literally out of nowhere. He looked very upset as he sat down on the chair nearest them, but leaned forward.

"I've been following the stupid git," he said, grumpily. He stuffed the cloak around Harry's bag, the map on top of it.

"But Kristopher came back nearly an hour ago," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes and watching Ron curiously.

Ron hesitated, sucking in a breath, then looked from Harry to Hermione, slightly embarrassed. "Well, I was tailing him until about an hour ago," he said, "he wasn't doing anything suspicious for the majority of the time. He spent a bit of time in the library looking up strange magical animals, a little more time reading about protective enchantments, but then he left, walked around, and finally went out onto the grounds when it got dark and that's when I ran into trouble." Hermione looked exasperated, and Ron caught it before she could speak. "When he left you were talking to that bloke from Ravenclaw, Terry Boot, is it? I couldn't let him know I was there otherwise Kristopher would have known too."

Harry shot a glance at Hermione, but she carefully avoided his eyes. "Go on, then," she urged. She had taken one of the pillows from the couch and was holding it between her arms like the anticipation of waiting for Ron's story was too intense.

"Alright, alright," Ron said, "so I left the library assuming I would trade with you at supper instead, since it was only an hour and a half away, then I could tell Harry—"

"We get it," Harry said impatiently, "go on."

Ron nodded. "For an hour he walked around the castle, peering behind suits of armor, looking inside doors, feeling the wall as if he were looking for a secret wall. Supper time came and went, I thought it so strange that he didn't go to supper and was sure that if I took the time to go back and switch with someone we'd miss something important or lose him, so I followed him outside. We walk and walk, past Hagrid's and almost to the forest. I was thinking the whole time that he was for sure going to meet Malfoy out there, or something sinister like that. I kept checking the map to see if I could tell who was coming to meet us, but the sun went down and the trees weren't going to let any extra light through, so that plan was squashed.

"We finally stop and he's standing literally at the edge of the forest, looking like he's just waiting for someone. I stood about ten or twenty yards away from him, mostly because my stomach was growling so loud that I was afraid he'd hear it. After waiting for twenty minutes, a girl comes walking towards us, creeping across the ground trying to be all stealth-like. And when she gets close enough that I can distinguish her face, I nearly laughed out loud. Guess who it was?" Hermione and Harry stared at him, having no idea who it was going to be. "The girl who came to the DA meetings with Cho!" Ron said, almost excitedly.

"Marietta Edgecombe?" Hermione said, absolutely shocked and unbelievingly.

Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. She walks up to him and says, 'I have what you asked for,' then hands him a small golden thing. I couldn't see it very well and I couldn't get very close because I was breathing so hard and the ground was full of mud so they'd be able to see my prints or hear my shoes squishing. That's when I really wanted extendable ears," he added, shaking his head in annoyance. "They were whispering, for some reason, and all I could catch was little phrases like, 'midnight after,' and, 'meet in the.' I don't understand why they were whispering, though, the castle was so far away that they were hardly distinguishable."

"You mean to say that you were out there that entire time and you could even overhear their conversation?" Hermione asked, the edge in her voice painfully obvious.

Ron cringed, knowing the flaw in his plan. "The cloak only makes me invisible, Hermione," he said defensively, "can't you hear the noises my stomach is making now? Then add my rasping breathing to that, out in the middle of nowhere. I think they might have gotten suspicious."

"I think," Harry said, trying to ease a wedge between his friends, "that the most important thing here isn't their conversation, but the fact that he most likely has one person from each house working for him. He's been in the company of Malfoy several different times, and now Marietta's. I bet he's been with a Hufflepuff without us even noticing."

"But who?" Ron asked, skeptically. "Why does he need someone from each house?"

"Well, having one person from each house would give him a way to know everything about their head of house, their common room, and the schedules of their students," Hermione said, looking at a spot a little past Ron and thinking out loud more than strictly informing them. "If he's up to something, he's doing it right. He's trying to weaken the defenses of Hogwarts."

"From the inside out," Harry said, catching on. "You know, I wouldn't be all that surprised if that was true."

"But who would the Hufflepuff person be? And how could these people be cooperating? Surely he told them _why_ he needs information," Ron said, doubtfully.

Hermione shook her head. "He doesn't need to tell them necessarily."

Ron looked at her blankly, then spoke very slowly, "He just met Marietta at the edge of the Forbidden Forest after sundown. If he told me to meet him there with something he'd asked me to get for him…I wouldn't just say, 'Oh, it's alright, leave me in the dark.'"

Hermione's eyes narrowed in thought, obviously conceding Ron's point. "I don't know who the Hufflepuff person could be," Hermione said, changing the subject. "But we'd better keep an eye out."

"Did you say Marietta gave him something golden?" Harry asked, the memory returning to him suddenly.

Ron nodded. "It wasn't very big, and looked flat, I guess," he said, screwing up his eyes as though trying to see it in front of him a very long distance away. "It fit in the palm of her hand," he shrugged unhelpfully.

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, thinking hard. Something golden?

\\//

Harry awoke Wednesday with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was something only instinct could inflict, and maybe a bit of something he'd dreamed during the night. Voldemort had been there, so had the corridor, but he couldn't connect anything. There were just fragmented images.

He'd been laying awake in bed for less than five minutes, desperately trying to remember who Voldemort had been talking to and why, but to no avail. The pain from his scar was giving him such a bad headache that thinking was out of the question.

_My occlumency skills are becoming lax,_ he thought angrily, _why is it not working anymore? Why am I having these dreams?_ For a minute, he felt blind rage towards Dumbledore, both for not teaching him occlumency himself and for not returning to Hogwarts. Then he relaxed as the twinge in his scar softened and went out like blowing out the flame of a candle. He sighed, only vaguely frustrated, and then reached for his glasses. As he did so, he saw the gleam of _I must not tell lies_ on he back of his hand, though he couldn't really read it, he knew what it said. Putting on his glasses, he stuck his hand in front of his face so as to read it better.

_I must not tell lies_. _I must not tell lies_.

What was the point in making him cut that into his hand? Did Umbridge really think she could squash him by getting him to cut words onto his hand? It seemed like a feeble attempt to rid him of morale when all the ministry really needed to do was expel him for a dumb reason, like, consecutive detentions. He recalled Dudley being suspended from school for, what Dudley claimed, was "pushing a younger boy" on the playground when they were younger. Pushing was a very understated verb, in Harry's opinion. When the other boy was able to come back to school, he had a clean cut across the back of his neck from what he was pushed into. Harry found it strange that he'd never heard of a student being suspended from Hogwarts. He'd been threatened with it over the summer, but it had been overturned.

Thinking first about Voldemort, then about his failing occlumency skills, and about Umbridge did not help the bad feeling Harry had in his gut. He preferred to start the mornings thinking about Hermione, it usually put him into a better mood. But this morning, he didn't even think about her until he'd begun to get dressed, when he thought about her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ coming at breakfast. Maybe there would be something in there that would justify this feeling inside him. Just as he thought that, a sharp pain seared across his scar and he fell back on his bed, feeling an out of body surge of accomplishment.

"Oy!" Ron shouted at him, sitting straight up in bed. "Put on some clothes. None of us want to see more of you than we already do." Seamus, Dean, and Neville snickered. Harry looked down at his trousers, they were halfway up his legs. Dean was no more dressed than he was, and Neville was only wearing a shirt.

"Since when do you talk about Eloise Midgen in your sleep?" Harry asked, fastening the zipper and button on his pants. "I didn't know you felt that way about her."

The other boys roared with laughter. Ron turned beat red and flung off his covers, bending low to take his time pulling out his clothes from his trunk. Harry smirked and nodded at Seamus, who had just winked at him. Nothing felt right, his pants were loose, Ron was acting strange—he usually didn't speak until they'd met Hermione in the common room—and his heart was pounding way too fast.

When both Harry and Ron were ready, Ron waited at the door while Harry shoved his last book into his bag and slung it across his shoulder. He punched Ron on the arm on the way out of the door, then hurried down as a playful fury rose in red around Ron's ears. He chased Harry down the steps and both nearly knocked Hermione over as they skidded to a stop, just feet passed the foot of the boy's stairs.

She watched them, amused, then rolled her eyes as Ron gave Harry a sharp nudge in the ribs. Ron smirked and passed them, as had become custom, and caught up with Neville. Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's stomach and hugged him, laying her head on his chest, as he led the way out the portrait hole behind Neville and Ron.

"What's that for?" Harry asked, pleased.

She looked up and smiled. "I just miss you, that's all."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Miss me? We didn't see each other for five hours, Hermione. Can't a guy sleep anymore?"

She frowned. "That's not what I meant," she looked a little hurt, but wiped it from her face. Harry hoped she knew he was joking, but once again, the twinge of uncertainty wrenched at his gut. He tightened his hold on her waist, and she seemed to accept it as an apology.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, after a minute of silence. Ron and Neville had just thrown their heads back in laughter, and he had twitched involuntarily.

He shook his head. "Everything is fine," his tone sounded less sure of what he said than the words themselves. She seemed to notice the waver in his voice, but tactfully didn't ensue it. To make sure, Harry changed the subject. "I think we should try sending Dumbledore another owl."

"But we don't know where to reach him," Hermione said apprehensively.

"Why does that matter?" he asked. "Owls just find the person don't they? We can use a barn owl instead of Hedwig."

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know, Harry. If it does get captured, even by sheer dumb luck, it might lead them right to Dumbledore."

Harry scoffed. "What are they going to do to him? He'd probably disapperate on the spot while throwing a mean hex at the officials."

"Even so," Hermione said, still sounding very unsure. "It worries me." Harry was about to open his mouth again when she cut him off. "What about Sirius? You haven't told him any of this! Imagine his disappointment if he learned that you were going through all of this and you hadn't told him."

A sharp pain in his stomach made Harry loosen his grip on Hermione, causing her to slip. He quickly caught her with his arm. "Sorry," he mumbled. His mouth literally dropped open in disbelief. "How could I have forgotten about Sirius all this time?"

Hermione smiled. "Maybe because of what happened to Hedwig," she said with a shrug. "I think the same precautions in sending an owl to Sirius apply as they do for Dumbledore."

She didn't sound like she had finished her thought, but they had just reached the great hall and both lost their train of thought. There was a deafening silence emanating off the walls around the room, except for low whisperings from groups huddled around every single house table. Hermione and Harry exchanged a look as they walked down the Gryffindor table. If eyes weren't peeled on the staff table, they were locked on the place in front of them. After a minor gap in the bench where they could peek through and see what they were looking at, Harry noticed that a copy of the Daily Prophet was placed in front of every three or four students.

Owls still swarmed in and dropped small parcels in front of students, but the only owls that were acknowledged were the ones carrying a Prophet. Harry and Hermione squeezed in between Ron and a second year girl, who looked absolutely petrified to be sitting next to a fifth year, and whose expression deepened when she saw Harry and Hermione.

Almost at once, an owl dropped a Prophet in front of Hermione, who paid it, and watched it zoom away before untying the string and quickly unfolding it. It didn't take any searching to find what the buzz was about. Right smack in the front page was an enormous picture of a man wearing dark green robes, with a long pointed, black beard, and square glasses. His skin was dark, but his eyes were clearly deep and hollow, the curve of his mouth was challenging. Underneath this full body portrait was a caption that read: Fudge Resigns, Fabian Brookgard Accepts Position as Minister for Magic.

In disbelief, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, their mouths hanging open. Ron turned and his own expression mirrored theirs.


	20. Chapter 20

"Fudge Resigns, Fabian Brookgard Accepts Position as Minister for Magic," Hermione read aloud. Harry lowered his head so as to hear her better. "Early yesterday morning, sources report, Cornelius Fudge approached the Wizengomat with concerns about the ill-regarded escape of Albus Dumbledore. 'I find it difficult to believe in a Ministry,' said Fudge, "that with all of its combined efforts to track down wizards like Sirius Black and now the ex-headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore has made no progress whatsoever.' Of course Fudge was present at Hogwarts when five ministry officials failed to arrest the headmaster, not the first of his many misgivings. The wider wizarding community has not held up much complaint against Fudge's administration, but the minister himself proved how wrong popular support can be. He took it upon himself to resign from his post in hopes that, should a great tragedy befall the ministry, he not be held responsible. Much of the Wizengomat is in an uproar, shouting cowardice and abandonment, and along with his position as Minister, has been kicked off his post he would resume as a retired ministry member. 'I don't care,' said Fudge in response to this decision, 'I cannot believe the state the ministry is in now and wish to take no further part in it. Hopefully the person who succeeds me in office will have a swell time tracking down the elusive wizards who have evaded capture in the wake of my administration but I cannot with good conscience continue the way things are going.'"

Hermione stopped reading and Harry looked up, first at the paper then at her. "What is it?" he asked.

"That's all there is," she said, opening the paper and looking to see if it was continued on another page. "That's all there is!" she said again, a red flush creeping up her cheeks.

"So basically," said Ron, who had obviously been listening as well, "Fudge resigned because he didn't think the ministry was doing enough?"

Hermione shook her head, dumbfounded. "I have no idea!" she looked furious. "This article makes him sound like a complete coward! He actually said he didn't care about being kicked off the Wizengomat and that the hunt for Azkaban escapees was getting too hard for him. What a joke. Our minister was a joke." She shut the paper and slapped in on the table in front of her, making the second year next to her cower in fear.

"Who is this Fabian Brookgard?" Harry asked, pointing to the picture. The man looked so familiar, but he couldn't place him.

Ron shook his head. "Never heard of him," he said. "Maybe he was head of another department. I think that's how it usually goes, or at least that's how it's been the last couple of times. Dad says it's usually someone pretty high up on the scale that gets the job."

"Look here!" Harry said, pointing to a blurb just to the right of the enormous picture of Fabian Brookgard. Hermione and Ron both huddled in close to see. "Floo Network Regulations Under Evaluation," Harry read out loud, "Stebbins, newly appointed as head of the Department of Magical Transportation, reported that the relaxed standards of the Floo Network have led to a series of break-ins into unknown Muggle villas. He is coordinating with Muggle liaison Arthur Weasley to find a better way to ensure that the statute of secrecy cannot be broken by simply appearing in a Muggle's fireplace. _Daily Prophet_ reporters are still digging for details."

"Muggle break-ins?" Ron said, his mouth hanging open in curiosity. "Why report that?"

Hermione's eye were wide. "Because if wizards are breaking into houses that are not hooked up to the network, our world could be in serious jeopardy, not to mention there could be a fatal loophole in the whole network."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "By loophole do you mean…"

"Miscalculation," Hermione finished for him, "there's something wrong with the network." She shook her head. "The only fireplace in all of Hogwarts that is working, Harry says, is Umbridge's. If this flaw is real, Hogwarts' defenses…" her voice trailed off, but there was no need to finish. Harry and Ron realized where she was going and were able to complete the picture in their heads.

Ron leaned in over Harry so both he and Hermione could hear him, but no one else. "You know this is it, right? It's obvious now that Kristopher isn't working alone. He's getting support outside the building."

At the same time, Ron and Hermione looked at Harry, as though expecting him to say something very obvious. "What?" Harry asked, dumbly.

"Harry," Hermione said, with that ring in her voice that exasperatedly wanted him to catch up. "If people are trying to get in, aren't we going to need a way to defend ourselves?"

Immediately, Harry understood. "It depends…" he began, realizing how his thought would sound out loud a second before he said it, "what they are looking for…what they want." Obviously, he knew the answer was him, it sounded tactless to say it aloud, but he knew that he had to say it.

Hermione winced. "Don't say that, Harry," she said, something she'd been driven to say several times over the last several days. "Even if, even if…Voldemort does…want you," she swallowed hard, "that doesn't mean you can't defend yourself."

"Presidium defendo," Ron reminded him, "it worked against Snape."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what is wrong with my spell, but it is too dangerous to use, especially against Voldemort." He paused. "What if it backfired and hit someone besides him? Anyway, what could I possibly do to prevent him from getting to me?"

"You escaped from the graveyard, didn't you?" Ron said, sitting up straighter. "He had you right under his nose, under the eyes of a dozen death eaters!"

Harry didn't feel consoled. "If the port key hadn't enabled me to get back to Hogwarts…" he let his thought trail off. "It was luck I escaped then."

"Don't be so modest," Hermione said, sounding a little annoyed. "You know more about magic than you're letting on, you've faced the dark stuff and know that feeling of standing and awaiting the next curse that could blow you off your feet." She shivered, looking horrified.

Harry stared at her. "I don't get where you're going with this," he admitted.

Ron sighed. "Harry, isn't it obvious?' he looked at his friend warily. "You're the only one who has been through it…you need to give the DA more personalized and more vivid accounts of your experiences."

"But why?" Harry pressed, not wishing at all to relive the graveyard, or even the Riddle in the diary.

"Because!" Hermione said in a sharp whisper. "A war is about to rage inside Hogwarts and we need to be able to fight."

Harry remained silent, understanding now, but not completely agreeing. _Without his friends, Potter is nothing._ Did that mean he was stronger with his friends, or that he needed to find a way to beat Voldemort alone? The never ending question rang through his head, and endless possibilities revealed themselves in rapid succession. From the little he knew of Lord Voldemort, he could gather that the wizard preferred to work alone, hated the fact that he needed Wormtail's help to regain a body, and ultimately, above all else, could not love. Did it boil down to the fact that love was what Voldemort feared would save him? That the combined efforts of he and his friends could create a plan that could rival that of the dark lord's?

Without thinking twice, knowing that if he did he might regret where it would lead him, Harry said, "You do realize how dangerous this could be? We're talking about potentially meeting Voldemort in combat." Both of his friends nodded, Hermione looking petrified, Ron looking wary, but both firm in their answer. "Then we need to meet tonight, everyone, and tell them everything."

\\//

Harry paced in front of the fire, shimmering on the far end of the room of requirement. The last to have trickled in were seated on the cushions, anxiously staring up at him, but he continued to pace. No one spoke, complete silence encompassed them.

Finally, he stopped and turned to face the group. "This room has been remarkably loyal to us," he said, glancing around at the structure, the books, "it has given us a safe place to practice and to understand basic theories. You all have come so far, too, in disarming, in stunning, even patronuses. I could never have imagined that this group could have accomplished so much by the end of the year." He paused, his eyes quickly searched for Hermione's. He needed the will to go on. "But as I mentioned in the Hogshead, before we began all this, facing dark magic isn't like being in a classroom. Knowing you're a second away from being killed or watching your friends struck down around you, there's no comparison. The terrifying feeling of being able to do nothing but stare into the eyes of your opponent who wants nothing more than to finish you off can paralyze you beyond all natural forms of functioning." He tore his eyes away from Hermione, who had been drinking in his every word, and glanced around at everyone else. They looked, rather unanimously, anxious and frightened, unsure of why he could be telling them this.

"A war could begin at Hogwarts any day, now," Harry continued, watching the expression on the faces looking up at him change immediately to uncertain fear. "And I don't mean that simply because Lord Voldemort is at large, as he has been for year. I mean because Hermione, Ron, and I have been given alarming evidence in the favor of this war, the details of which would take too long to relay accurately. With the placement of the new minister of magic, we do not know where we stand any longer. At least with Fudge we knew his dire opposition to Dumbledore wasn't harming us, literally, but we don't know what to expect with Brookgard, and because of that, our situation has changed to active duty."

Murmurs broke out among the group, mostly frightened whispers. He caught Hermione's eye, and he gave him a loving and sympathetic stare that both ignited a fire in him, but wanted to kick her out of the room at the same time. He wanted to keep her safe and out of harm's way, but that was him being selfish. She was the most talented witch he knew, and the battle inside of him had already broken out about how he really felt about her standing next to him in his mental image of battling Lord Voldemort.

He held up his hands for quiet, and silence wafted in between them once again as though he'd cast a silencing charm. "Understand that this is going to be very dangerous. Death eaters and, not to mention Voldemort, are bloodthirsty and don't care who they strike down in order to reach their goal," Harry said, trying to be as honest as he could without being tactless. "If you don't think you are ready, I understand, but ask that you please leave now. No one will think any less of you, but know that if you stay, you are in it for the long haul."

To his immense surprise, no one stood up to leave. Not even Zachariah Smith, whom Harry had expected to leave the group months ago. The surprise evidently showed on Harry's face, because Neville, tall and lanky, stood up.

"Harry, we've been training to fight for almost a year," he said, his voice quivering under the eyes of his thirty fellow members, "this group is about fighting you know who, we want to fight." Several whoops and nods of agreement broke out, fists pumped in the air, and everyone stared even more avidly at Harry, but Neville didn't sit down. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, then folded his arms.

When everyone realized he wasn't going to say anything, Harry understood what Neville was doing. He was standing to symbolize he was ready, and seconds later, Hermione and Ron stood as well, folding their arms. Then Ginny, Fred, George, Lee, and Alicia Spinet stood. Before long, in one great wave, everyone stood, silent, arms folded.

"We aren't backing down, Harry," Lee said, finally unfolding his arms. "Our parents fought, and it was you who stopped him last time, who's to say you can't do it again."

"But this isn't like last time," Harry said, his voice becoming very anxious. "Our parents fought and lost, people were being killed left and right—"

"You can try and scare us away," Ginny said, her tone even and unafraid, "but I think it is only scaring you." Several nods of agreement ensued, Harry felt his face grow hot.

"Of course I'm scared," he said, allowing his tempter to take control. "I'm terrified that I'm leading you all to the gallows! For some reason Lord Voldemort is hunting me. He tried to kill me fourteen years ago and he wants to have another go, but this time it isn't him versus a baby boy. But it isn't me I'm scared for," he continued, walking closer to the front line of people in the group. "Whether or not I can defend myself efficiently is irrelevant because I believe that one way or another I will end up in the presence of Voldemort. But you guys are risking your lives for an operation that has little to no goal and the chance of survival is so slim, when it turns sideways it disappears." No one laughed, but he didn't expect anyone to.

"So we're just supposed to sit in our dormitories and watch you die?" someone asked from the back, everyone turned and saw that it was Zachariah Smith. "Listen, Potter, it's not like we've been on the best of terms and I haven't always been your biggest fan, but it's more than about you, you know. You know who is after more than your blood, he's after mudbloods and blood traitors alike, then there's muggles. He's got a bigger plan than just your death."

Harry thought for a moment, the kid was absolutely right. But that didn't diminish the fact that they would all be risking their lives in order to protect the target of Voldemort's first curse.

He cleared his throat, then swallowed, reveling in his moment of decision. "Obviously, if I had the choice, I would just give myself up so as to save more deaths," he said, more quietly than he had intended, "but we all know that would do no good. It would make no difference, as Zachariah said. After he kills me off, he'll move on to his bigger plan." He swallowed again, trying to relieve the itch in the back of his throat. "But regardless, I was told that more detailed accounts of my experiences with dark magic and dark wizards was needed. So today, instead of practicing more, we're going to attempt to decipher the dark arts."

And, after much interested chatter, he began to tell the stories of his first encounters with dark magic, with Professor Quirrell, with the Mirror of Erised, the sorcerer's stone, the basilisk, the diary of Tom Riddle, and on and on. He kept his audience mesmerized as his mouth kept going. Questions were asked and he delved further, letting them in on anything he could remember, anything that could help them defeat Lord Voldemort.

But he had only gotten to the sorting hat revealing the sword of Godric Gryffindor when Hermione pointed out that it was really late and they should reconvene another time. Even against protests and unhappy muttering, they managed to evacuate the room in ample time to return to their dormitories without being noticed they were an hour and a half past curfew.

Hermione and Harry left last, concealed under the invisibility cloak. They didn't say anything until they reached the staircase in front of the fat lady, who was snoring soundly in her frame. Hermione stopped walking, and since her arm was linked through Harry's, he gave a dramatic lurch and wheeled about to face her in the dim light of the staircase.

"What?" he whispered.

"Harry, I really…" she paused, looking reluctant, "can I sleep in your bed tonight? I don't want to be alone."

Harry grinned and pulled her in closer, kissing the top of her head. "Hermione, you never have to ask," he kept her in a hug for a moment, feeling perfectly suspended in time, all else wiped from his mind. Then he tilted her back to look at her. "But you do realize that if we're caught we could be expelled…?"

Hermione shrugged. "According to the rule books," she blushed suddenly, "they can't expel you based on frivolous behavior, you're only given a stern warning. The book was very clear on that."

"Excellent, frivolous behavior it is." He ducked out of the invisibility cloak and whispered, "Follow me," to Hermione and walked up to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Clearing his throat he said, "Fizzing Whizzbies."

The Fat Lady jerked and opened her eyes dramatically. "Not under my portrait, please," she mumbled, then swung open to reveal the common room. It was completely disserted, everyone had already gone to bed.

"Let's hope Ron is already in bed," Harry whispered, "otherwise we're going to have some serious explaining to do." Hermione giggled, and he jumped because her voice came from the opposite side of where he thought she was. He pretended not to be startled and led the way up to the boy's dormitory.

\\//

The DA met five times over the next seven days, everyone was completely entranced by Harry's stories and yearned to know more about defending themselves against the dark arts. With each story, the members of the DA began to understand why it was so important to know as much as they could about defending themselves and Harry couldn't help but keep talking, his mouth didn't seem to stop working.

Each story was accompanied by screams and gasps, and when Harry had completed his account of the graveyard, finally reaching the port key and returning to the stadium with Cedric's body, there were tears in most of the girl's faces. Even Zachariah Smith couldn't help but look truly unhinged.

"I knew that as soon as I saw Cedric's ghost, my time in the graveyard would shortly come to a close," Harry said, sitting back in his armchair. The room had spurted more chairs than pillows that evening, as everyone had been getting uncomfortable sitting on the ground and he didn't like being front and center. "It was one thing to see the old muggle man and even my parents, but they were stories that had already been told. Cedric's death would have been a mystery." He paused, feeling the image of Cedric's lifeless body engulf him.

"Is that why you can see thestrils?" Terry Boot asked. A couple people looked at him curiously. "Luna told me that you, she, and Neville can see them," he explained.

Harry nodded. "I suppose so," he said, "I didn't have much choice to look away, I mean, it all happened so quickly. The only forewarning I had was the blinding pain from my scar, and even then, all my scar ever tells me is when Voldemort is near."

"So when Rita Skeeter wrote that you collapsed during a class and couldn't possibly go on," Alicia Spinet inquired, "this is what you experience?"

Harry sat forward again, elbows on his knees and playing with his hands. "More or less, it's more like the scene from the Riddle house I witnessed before the TriWizard tournament, you know, with Wormtail and Voldemort."

After the four hundredth time of saying Voldemort's name in front of this group, only one or two people flinched. Harry noticed it and pointed it out. "You know, I've been thinking about this over the last day or so, but the more I say Voldemort's name, the less you all flinch."

"Not all of us," Pavarti said in a high squeak, "Padma and I still don't appreciate it."

Harry stood up and began to pace. "Dumbledore once told me that fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself," he stopped and looked at them, "if we can all learn to say his name instead of the whole you know who rubbish, I honestly believe that he will become less threatening. Think about it," he said, amidst protests, "when I first was introduced to the wizarding world, Hagrid refused to say his name. I didn't understand because I hadn't lived in fear the last eleven years, but as the year progressed I became more aware of how much everyone lets this simple name take over them. What is the use in avoiding saying a person's name to just invoke more fear? Isn't it your parents who taught you the You Know Who and He Who Must Not Be Named rubbish?"

A general consent, though wary and apprehensive, wafted through the crowd. None looked too excited on the prospect of having to say the name of the most feared wizard of all time, but everyone seemed to agree with Harry.

"It's just a suggestion," Harry said with a shrug, "but I think if you stop being scared of his name, you'll be able to bring him back down to your level. An accomplishable feat." Many people exchanged glances and nodded, but no one said anything.

"Well, go on, Harry, finish the story," Fred piped up.

"Yes," Alicia Spinet said, "and tell us more about Sirius Black. That whole concept is absolutely intriguing."

"I still can't believe he's innocent!" Terry said, shaking his head. "There were so many eye witnesses. But I guess it makes sense. Ol' Wormtail wouldn't want to give up his cowardly disguise." Small laughter followed his comment, and even Harry grinned a bit, remembering with deep affection the moment Sirius was vindicated in the Shrieking Shack.

"It does completely change my perception of what is going on right under the ministry's nose," Padma Patil said, with a look at her sister. "I mean, we'd never heard of the Order of the Phoenix, and if you would have told me that it was comprised of a most wanted Azkaban escapee, a werewolf, five aurors, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, I would have thought you were insane."

"Why can't we join the Order?" Alicia asked, and a couple other people murmured in agreement.

"Because we're still in school," George said, bitterly. "Fred and I wanted to join months ago, but they said that even though we're of age we can't join because we're still in school."

"But we've got Dumbledore's Army!" Ginny said, shooting Harry a broad smile. "If we can't join the Order, we've got the next best thing, not to mention Harry Potter himself."

"That's true," said Hermione, who hadn't said anything at all that day. "The Order has members from the first time Voldemort was at large, they know what happened then, but we have the one person that Voldemort wants." Her voice quavered through the last thought, and she blinked a couple times to hold back frightful tears.

Zachariah grunted. "No offense, Potter, but is this all about protecting you or are we striving to make our world safer?"

"Would it really make a difference?" Fred growled, his face contorted and looking menacing.

"Voldemort isn't after Harry just for kicks," George said, his face identical to his twin. "Obviously Harry is some kind of a threat to him."

"He's fifteen!" Zachariah retorted.

"Again, does it really make a difference?" Fred asked.

"Alright, alright," Harry said, quieting them down. "I understand Zachariah's concern. It would seem really silly to fight this war if it were just about my life, and frankly, if that were the case, I would hand myself over if I thought Voldemort would stop his threats once he'd killed me. But does anyone actually believe he'd do that?"

"Zachariah might be ready to offer you up as bait," Ginny said, shooting Zachariah a nasty look, "but none of the rest of us are." Once again, murmurs of consent broke around them.

Zachariah stood up, the better to defend himself. "I'm not saying that we offer him up as bait," he growled back, staring fiercely at Fred, George, and Ginny, "I'm simply asking if Potter is more concerned in his own well-being than the wider wizarding community."

Ron stood up next, who was only about three feet from Zachariah. He closed the gap so that he was staring downward at the other boy, who was at least four inches shorter than Ron. "In case you didn't hear, Smith, Harry just said that he'd hand himself over if he thought you know who's threats would stop. That is more than we could say for you," he cracked his knuckles and looked downright threatening; Zachariah stared back, realizing Ron was right, then sat back down. Harry's pulse quickened as his best friend defended him. Zachariah could be very dim at times.

"This war is about more than me and even more than stopping Lord Voldemort," Harry continued, "it's about learning to fight for a cause that you would give your life for. It's about defending those who can't defend themselves and creating a safe environment for our children, and our children's children before we go ahead and kill off magic altogether."

No one spoke after he said this. Many people simply looked at each other, exchanging significant glances and nodding knowingly. Harry caught Hermione's eye and her deep look of affection swelled inside him. He knew he'd said the right thing, but he was still afraid that no one understood the scope and size of the matter ahead. This was a war they were facing, a war of immense proportions and a death toll that could potentially reach above what they were willing to admit.

When he finally looked away from Hermione, he saw that everyone's attention had returned to him.

"Shall I continue with the graveyard?" he asked.


	21. Chapter 21

OOTP SHEPARDING FENCES.

Harry turned the piece of parchment over, bemused at how little was written on the one side he was convinced there had to be more. _OOTP sheparding fences_? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean.

"I'm sure it means that the Order has stationed members around Hogsmead and the castle itself," Hermione said in a whisper, scooting closer to him on the bench. "O.O.T.P. could definitely stand for Order of the Phoenix," she pointed to the anacronym. With a dawning comprehension, Harry chuckled to himself. Obviously.

"Do you think the Order has its suspicions about Brookgard too?" Ron asked, through a mouthful of eggs.

"I'm sure they do," said Hermione. "Your dad works for the ministry afterall, I'm sure he was able to shed a little insight on the matter." She turned to Harry. "Are you feeling alright, you look positively pale." She held up a hand to his forehead. "You're burning up again," she poured him a glass of water and held it in front of him, "is it your scar?"

He didn't answer, but accepted the glass of water and drank it all in one gulp. He didn't realize how parched his throat felt until he drank the water, but underneath his robes he felt the odd chill of sickness that engulfed him after a siege of Voldemort inside his head. He was beginning to be unable to distinguish his dreams from reality and every evening's extravaganzas were hounded by eerie trips into the long, dark corridor, desperately searching for something he didn't have.

When he didn't answer, Hermione sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "It's not like I don't hear you muttering in your sleep, Harry," she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her. Ron, however, probably wouldn't have been able to hear if she'd said it with a normal volume because he was stuffing food down his throat so fast and noisily he was attracting the attention of some third year girls and boys sitting feet from them.

Startled by Hermione's comment, Harry looked at her. "What do you mean?" he whispered back.

"I've slept with you almost every night this week," she reminded him, "you're always saying something like, 'A little bit farther,' or, 'Is everything in order? Is it time, yet?'" Still, he stared at her, silently. She sighed. "I don't mean you have to tell me what you're dreaming about, Harry, but if you're struggling with occlumency, perhaps I can help…"

"My occlumency is just fine," Harry retorted, picking up a piece of toast from a plate in front of him. That was completely untrue, his occlumency, which had once been successful in completely blocking out the dark lord had now failed to block out his dreams for the second week in a row. It was aggravating and unnerving. "If it bothers you, you can always go back to your own bed." She sat up, lifting her head from his shoulder. He winced. "I didn't mean that, I'm sorry, really."

"Harry I don't know what is going on with you but something is making you behave this way," she said hotly, "and until you can be completely honest with me you might not be able to overcome whatever it is you are going through." Then her voice softened and she placed a hand on his. "The greatest thing about being in a relationship is the fact that you can help each other out. I want to help, but even more I want you to want me to help."

Harry was about to respond when Ron nudged him in the side, completely oblivious to their conversation. Harry turned and saw that Ron was pointing to a spot on the ceiling, following his finger he saw Hedwig soaring down, a letter in her beak. Hermione gasped and giggled, she'd expressed numerous times how much she liked his owl, and she was a magnificent creature. So beautiful, so extravagant, so elegant. It was like watching a theater production.

"But I just got Sirius' note, who else would be writing to me?" Harry wondered aloud.

"I suppose any one of the Order," said Hermione. Hedwig landed in front of Harry and he removed the letter from her beak, offering her his bacon in return.

"This feels really odd," Harry said, not quite sure if he was pleased to see Hedwig. At least he knew that while she was in her spot in the owlery she was safe, and everyone else was safe, but who would use her to send him a letter? It was too risky.

"Open it!" Ron said excitedly, putting more bacon in front of Hedwig, who ate it up hungrily.

Harry used his index finger to rip open the envelope and slipped out the letter inside. When he opened it, a newspaper clipping fell out onto the table in front of him. "Moony. That's all it says," Harry said aloud. Together, Harry, Ron, and Hermione put their heads together to read the clipping.

_To his administration, Minister Fabian Brookgard appointed the following me to oversee all hunts for Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore in hopes that the two men will be caught within the week: Thomas Avery, Walden Macnair, and Geoffrey Goyle. Hogwarts School is expected to be searched within the week._

"Oh my god!" Hermione gasped, sucking in so much air she appeared to choke. Harry slapped her on the back, but it didn't seem to help. She coughed and sputtered for a moment, Harry had a moment of utmost attraction to her, and then came out grasping Harry's shoulder for support. "They are death eaters!" she hissed, sounding absolutely terrified.

Both Harry and Ron's mouths dropped open. "But if they are all death eaters," Ron said, letting his mind run, "Brookgard—"

"—must be one too…" Harry finished. "That can't be purely coincidence, can it?" he looked skeptically at Hermione. She was still staring at the clipping in disbelief.

"It's Tuesday," Ron said unnecessarily, "they could show up tomorrow or in five days! Do you suppose that's how they're going to get in? Under the pretense of searching for Sirius and Dumbledore?"

"Obviously," said Hermione, sneering at the clipping now. "Only an idiot would suspect either of those men to be hiding here. This is absolutely frightening." She looked up and glanced down the table. Ginny, George, Fred, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, Pavarti, Colin, and five other Gryffindors were all trying to catch their eye. When they finally did, they all, at one moment, exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Now the question is," Harry said, "do we wait a day or two, or do we call a meeting that lasts until they show up?"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, tearing his gaze from the other Gryffindors.

Harry looked at him, his green eyes blazing with a mixture of worry and deep regret. "If Hogwarts is going to be 'searched'," he used air quotes around searched, "that means the hunt inside the school is going to begin. When that happens, wouldn't it be better to be altogether than separate?"

Hermione hummed nervously. Harry could feel her shaking next to him, her hand still resting on his thigh. He reached out an arm and drew her in, holding her close. She wasn't crying, but he could feel her heart beat quicken and her breaths become deeper.

Ron leaned forward. "It's going to be alright, Hermione," he said softly, nodding at Harry who was completely lost for words, "good always overcomes bad."

\\//

After much deliberation, Harry decided to wait twenty-four hours before calling another DA meeting. He, Ron, and Hermione decided that it was best to, once they called the meeting, not leave the room of requirement until the 'search' of the school commenced.

"I reckon the search is going to be your capture," Ron had said, the night before they'd called the meeting. "I mean, if Voldemort is going to make known his presence in the wizarding world once again, what better way than with your death? Or at least, the threat of it."

Hermione had consented reluctantly. "They won't realize that we'll be ready to fight," she said, thinking hard. "But I imagine that's why the Order is watching the castle. They know something is not right, they'll be here to watch over you too."

"Do you think you know who will come?" Ron asked, fear crossing briefly over his face. He'd tried to maintain a fierce and unafraid air in the wake of Hermione's crumble.

"It depends," said Harry, biting his lip, "on how badly he wants me dead." He avoided Hermione's gaze. "If he wants to draw it out and get as much bargaining out of it as he can, I might not be dead for a year. But if I am a threat to him, in some way we don't know, he's not going to like being challenged any longer by a fifteen year old and I suspect he will do me in the moment he gets the chance."

That was when they decided to call a meeting for the following afternoon, after classes ended that Wednesday. Hermione and Ron said they weren't going to take any chances on when the ministry blokes would arrive and wanted to cage Harry up until the DA could form a battle plan. In addition to putting the time and date on the coins, Harry inscribed 'Allotted time indefinite, be prepared' and hoped everyone would be forewarned of what he truly meant. After several meetings of simply talking and informing them of all they knew of the ministry and what they suspected of Kristopher, Harry suspected they knew this was coming.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived in the room of requirement early, to ask it for more than just a meeting room. They thought long and hard and knew, from experience, that it would give them whatever they needed. Leaving it to Hermione, knowing her brain could better explain their needs, they let her walk in front of the room to ask for everything they needed. Places for everyone to sleep, a bathroom, a safe and unattainable place for anyone whose name was not on the DA list, and still a place to fight.

After her third walk past, Hermione stopped and stared at the wall as the door formed. Breathing deeply, she opened the door and led them in. The room was astoundingly magnificent. The ceiling was high, like the entrance hall, and one wall was covered in bunk beds, divided by walls that shielded three bunks with a doorless entry into each cubicle. Next to the last cubicle was a door that they expected led to a bathroom. On the opposite side was the familiar walls and floor they'd been using for the last several months. On the far side, directly in front of the door yet a good ways away from them, was a burning fireplace, enormous in itself, large enough to fit three people side by side, and a long, rectangular table stretched out in front of it.

As they walked farther in, examining everything in stride, they noticed a handful of small trap doors and a painting similar to the one that hung as the entrance to the kitchen, the one where the person desiring entrance must tickle the fruit in order to find the handle. Harry went for the trap doors as Ron went for the painting, both nodding each other in silent amazement.

Harry crouched down and examined the first trap door. It was very strange because half of it was flat against the floor and the other half had curved up the wall, but there was a definitive marking around its edge where the space had been made available to pass through. The moment Harry thought, _I wonder how you open it_, a knob appeared on the side closest to him. Cautiously, he reached out and grabbed the knob. Before he could do much else, the plank of wood vanished before his eyes and he found himself looking down upon an empty corridor. He jumped away from the space and the wood immediately resealed itself.

Hermione was crouching next to him, watching avidly. He looked at her, desiring all at once to know what went on through her head that she thought to ask for trap doors. Where did they lead?

She turned to the next one, this one was larger and completely on the wall. A knob, similar to the other one, appeared and Hermione touched it. Once again, the wood disappeared and the door grew to Hermione's height. She stood up and peered around the corner. It appeared to be the transfiguration hallway. The moment she'd pulled herself completely back in the room, the door resealed.

"It appears to be multiple doors that lead to a variety of locations around the castle," Hermione said, amazed. "I wonder where the first one led to…"

She couldn't get any further before an awful scream rent the air. Harry and seized his forehead and fallen to the ground, the blinding pain protruding from his scare was agony beyond anything he could recall. The pain was so fierce he could not seem to open his eyes, or feel Hermione's hands attempt to calm him. Every muscle in his body twitched and writhed in agony, perplexed by this sudden and unprecedented pain.

Then the pain disappeared, but his eyes would not open. The sudden and dramatic finality of pain caused his body to go limp and his mind to go clear. Through the blackness of his own eyelids he felt an insane, maniacal laughter gurgle up in his chest and before he knew it, a loud cold voice had overtaken his own. He was laughing triumphantly, without care that the whole building, the whole country, could quite possibly hear his voice. The laugh lasted for several minutes, or perhaps a half an hour. When it finally died away, Harry returned to himself and felt the uncomfortable prickle coming from his scare.

And the rest of his feeling returned to his body. As the muscles in his body relaxed, he felt them suddenly tighten in shock, squirm in pain, as though reacting to the sheer duality of tense pain that had just seared through his body. Then he felt something else, wet, and somewhat heavy, on his stomach. His eyes flickered open and he saw Hermione sobbing on his stomach. Her hands were curled up and clutching her eyes as she lay on him.

Harry reached out a hand and grasped one of hers, feeling its wet, but extremely soft, shivering flesh. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his throat was dry and felt as though it hadn't been used in years.

Forcing himself to endure the pain of speech, he sat up and turned Hermione over so that she was looking at him. "Hermione, don't cry," he croaked, his voice lower than was usual. "I'm sorry you had to hear that…" his voice trailed off as she sat up quickly and embraced him. Then she was kissing him, on the mouth, on the neck, and on the mouth again. He responded enthusiastically, but the kiss didn't last long.

She pulled away, tears still streaming down her face. "We need to end this, once and for all," she said, through heaving sobs. "Whatever it is that lets Voldemort get ahold of you like that…we've got to end it!"

He watched her tremble in front of him, simultaneously unnerved and distraught. Affection bubbled up inside him, as the laughter had done, but this time it was completely his own. He took her hand again.

"Hermione, the war, whatever it might mean, does not necessarily mean it's the end," he said, carefully choosing his words. "But that doesn't mean we aren't going to fight to the death." She nodded, but he didn't quite know if she could hear him through her heavy breathing. His voice was still low and cracking.

They sat there for another couple minutes, hand in hand, as Harry waited patiently for Hermione to calm down. It took awhile, she first tried to dry her eyes, but they kept producing tears, so she resorted to working on her breathing. Harry was deeply amused, but didn't let on. He just enjoyed watching her. There was something very enchanting about watching a girl cry for him, and his heart beat more quickly at the thought.

After some time they stood to their feet, Hermione looking much better. Just a moment after they'd made a movement to leave the spot Harry had collapsed nearly ten minutes ago, the portrait of the fruit swung open and Ron came running back in, a broad grin on his face, and closely followed by Dobby.

Dobby let out an enormous, uncharacteristic cackle of laughter and flung himself at Harry's legs. "Harry Potter! Dobby was hoping to see him again before the end of school! Dobby is so happy the Weezie boy came to find Dobby and tell him Harry Potter was in the next room!" He pulled himself away from Harry, who was patting him gingerly on the back. "But where are we?" he asked, looking around the great room. "Dobby hasn't exited through that portrait before."

Harry gave Dobby a broad smile. "Dobby, we're in the room of requirement!" he said, stretching out his arms. "We've, uh, we've gone into hiding."

Dobby's face sank with sadness. "Oh, Harry Potter sir, Dobby is so sorry. Is the mean Professor kicking him out of Hogwarts? Dobby heard the woman speaking to the bad man through the fire and knew that it was only a matter of time!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a completely blank stare. "What did you say Dobby? What was Umbridge saying?"

Dobby shifted his feet, knowing now that he was giving Harry new information. "The man in the fire told the Professor that next time you called a meeting with your galleon, they would be coming after Harry Potter to arrest him for illegal activity."

"What?" Ron roared. "How the hell do they know about the galleons?" Dobby began to weep and grasped at Harry's robes, pressing his head hard into Harry's leg. Ron fumed and began to pace a very short space of ground, muttering curses and swearing loudly.

Hermione was watching Dobby closely, she'd always liked the elf and was, Harry assumed, grateful that he was not punishing himself. Dobby had no master, he was a free elf, which meant overhearing Umbridge meant nothing to him.

"Dobby," she said softly, walking over to the blubbering elf. He looked up, his large tennis ball eyes staring unblinkingly at her. She smiled, or at least her mouth did, Harry knew that wasn't her real smile. "Dobby, could you tell who the man in the fire was?" Dobby shook his head. "Did Umbridge address him in any way, then? Did she call him by a name or a title?"

Dobby thought hard for a moment, his wet face motionless with thought. "Well, Miss, Dobby did hear Professor Umbridge say, 'Hello, Minister'."

Ron stopped pacing and turned to stare at Harry. Harry looked back at him with the same fear reflected on his own face. Their suspicions about the new minister were correct, he was coming to retrieve Harry and turn him over to Voldemort.

Before any of the three could say anything in response, the door behind them burst open and a dozen people hurried inside. Most of the Gryffindors and several Ravenclaws ran in, including Luna and, to Harry's utter astonishment, Cho Chang.

Cho ran up to him, Luna on her heels, glancing sideways at Hermione who had suddenly rushed to Harry's side. "Harry, there's something you've got to know," she said, sounding completely out of breath. "I only just found out," she stopped a moment to catch her breath.

"Marietta's helping Voldemort?" Harry asked, coldly.

Cho caught her breath. "Ye—yes…how did you…" she looked back and forth from Luna to Harry.

"I tried to tell you," Luna said to Cho. Luna turned to Harry. "She comes running up to me only ten minutes ago and says that Marietta was taking two other Ravenclaw boys to the Astronomy tower to wait for her father. I was about to tell her that you already knew Marietta was working with Kristopher, but she ran off ahead of me."

"Waiting for her father?" Harry asked, looking back at Cho, his mouth dropping open. "Who is her father?"

"Henry Edgecombe used to work at Gringotts," Cho said, finally catching her breath, "but he was fired last year when they found out he'd been in league with Ludo Bagman, swindling money from the goblins themselves. Marietta always said he'd left the country and she and her mother never spoke to him, you know her mother works for the Floo Network Office at the ministry. I don't know what has gotten into her, though, she's never showed support for you know who in the whole time I've known her."

Harry looked at Hermione, who looked utterly perplexed. He didn't know what to think about that. Then he heard something slap, like flesh to flesh, and turned to see Ron beating his head with his hand.

"Oy!" Harry called out, reaching to grab his arm.

"The small golden flat thing I saw Marietta give Kristopher!" he exclaimed, all the color draining from his face. "It was her galleon! He knew when we were calling meetings!"

"But didn't he get one when he joined?" Harry asked, looking from Ron to Hermione.

"I didn't have any more," Hermione said, folding her arms, "and I wasn't about to give one to him."

Harry swirled around to face Cho again. "And that's how you knew, tonight?" he asked Cho.

"When I ran down from my dormitory after overhearing Marietta talking outside, I saw Luna with her bag," she nodded at a small handbag that seemed to be stuffed with a number of objects dangling from Luna's wrist, "and then I ran up to check my galleon because I saw her talking with Terry, Michael, and Anthony, I had the slightest suspicion. When I saw that you had indicated 'be prepared' I knew it had to be something to do with everything that's been happening at the ministry."

"Why'd you come warn me?" Harry asked, his eyes soft, but tone very serious.

She looked at him, not bothering to cower under Hermione's fierce stare. Lowering her voice, she said, "Whatever happened between us, Harry, it's not like we weren't friends. Right? I mean, I just found out my best friend is going to betray everyone in this school. I had to very quickly realign my priorities and realize that we really didn't have anything to begin with, but I did have the DA." She looked around at the other members, who hadn't been paying attention, but chatting together in low voices. "What is the plan? What are you guys planning to do?"

Harry breathed in deeply. "We're going to fight," he said, his shoulders tensing. He looked around the room. "I guess all these beds weren't necessary, if the castle is being invaded tonight."

The door opened again and another stream of DA members flooded in, this time Justin Finch-Fletchley came running up to Harry and stood next to Cho, also looking extremely out of breath. Susan Bones joined him seconds later.

"We know who the Hufflepuff person is," Justin said, taking heaving breaths. "It's Roger Stebbins' son, Greg!"

"He just took four other boys into the grounds," Susan said, her eyes wide with fear. "We overheard them talking in the common room. They said his father would be arriving at midnight."

"What is it with death eaters and their sons?" Ron growled. "Hasn't the Malfoy family tainted the concept enough?"

Harry briefly acknowledged Ron's comment, then grabbed a nearby chair and stood on it. "Hey! Hey, everyone," he held up his hands and the frightened chatter that had occupied the great room died down. "Originally, the plan was to hide here until the death eaters began the war, but in light of new evidence, most importantly that Kristopher knows we're meeting tonight, not much hiding will be able to happen." He had expected whispering to commence at this news, but everyone remained deadly silent, so he continued, lowering his voice. "Cho just learned that Marietta and two other boys have gone to the Astronomy tower to wait for her father, and Justin and Susan just found out that it's Roger Stebbins' son, Greg, who's working for the Hufflepuffs, and he's waiting for his father in the grounds," he felt his heart beat quicken. "But with everything we've been talking about over the past week, and everything we've learned about the ministry and the death eaters working for them, there's no telling how anyone will arrive."

"That makes making a plan a bit more difficult, eh?" George called out.

"Precisely," Harry responded. He looked at his watch. It was six-thirty. "We've got five and a half hours before the attack is suspected to take place. Susan said Mr. Stebbins should be arriving at midnight." Struck by a sudden thought, he lowered himself from the chair and looked around for Dobby. Dobby was crouching low behind Hermione's legs, but when Harry motioned for him, he walked right up to him. "Dobby I have a enormous favor to ask of you," he said, lowering himself to eye level with the elf.

Dobby's ears stood straight up and he trembled in his spot. "Anything, Harry Potter sir, anything you ask and it will be done!"

Harry smiled, gratefully. "Listen, Dobby, no one will be able to eat before midnight, seeing as we're all stuck in here. Would you, by any chance, be able to get enough food for thirty people?"

Dobby's eyes, if possible, widened, and a broad smile stretched across his face. With a wink, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Harry straightened up and turned back to the group. "If we are going to be fighting by midnight, we need a plan." When he turned to lead the way to the massive dining table spread out in front of the fireplace, the table was, all at once, filled with food.


	22. Chapter 22

The first thirty minutes of their assumed five and a half hours before midnight was spent savoring a delicious feast provided especially for the DA. Harry had invited Dobby to join them, but Dobby, too embarrassed to face the rest of the group, graciously declined and returned to the kitchen.

"I wonder if we should have asked him to keep watch," Ron had said to Harry seconds after Dobby disappeared into thin air, "you know, at Umbridge's office. Ouch!" He turned and rubbed his arm where Hermione had just slapped him. "What was that for?"

"You can't ask a house elf to risk his life just because he'll do whatever you ask of him!" she exclaimed exasperatedly. "What can possibly be running through your mind right now?" she turned away from him in a huff of annoyance and resumed her conversation with Ginny.

Ron looked up at Harry, winking. "Feisty one, isn't she? Lucky you nabbed her now?" he snickered in a low whisper. Harry smiled, casting his gaze upon Hermione who seemed to sense his eyes on her and flushed a light shade of pink. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him, and he winked.

From his right, Fred leaned in close and whispered, "You'd better stop making friends with girls or this three feathered love peacock will expand even more." He sniggered and leaned away.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Ron and Fred exchanged a glance, then rolled their eyes. "Birds of a feather," Fred said with a laugh, turning back to George and Lee.

Ron changed the subject at top speed. "You realize we just wasted a half hour, don't you Harry?" he tapped his watch. "Don't you reckon we ought to get started with whatever it is you're thinking?"

Harry looked at his own watch and received a shock. The time had passed so quickly, and time was something they could never have enough of. He stood up, picking up his empty goblet and fork at the same time, tapping it so that an uncharacteristically loud clang echoed throughout the room. All eyes turned towards him and voices hushed up quickly.

He cleared his throat. "Feel free to keep eating," he said, nodding towards certain people who were still chewing on legs of chicken, "but we've got very little time to cover a lot of difficult information." He sighed and took a deep breath. "There's exactly thirty-eight of us, so I reckon we split into seven groups of four and two groups of five. Strength in numbers, I believe. Honestly, I don't care how we split up, but please don't leave anyone out and try to even out talents. Everyone here has done extraordinarily in a non-threatening environment, but I know some of you are still wary about getting out there and actually needing to defend yourselves. Because of that fear, voiced or not, be very sure that everyone in your quarry knows your plan extremely well. Now go on and divide into groups."

A loud shuffling of chairs ensued as people scooted closer to each other and walked around the table to divvy up the smaller groups appropriately. Harry watched Cho tug Neville and Luna alongside herself and Michael Corner, then look around to see if anyone else was lurking alone. Beside him, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron remained still, except that Ginny and Hermione moved their chairs more closely to Ron. He looked down, sadly, and wondered if he should point out that he was actually the thirty-ninth member of the group and that he had no intention of joining them.

"Hey, Harry!" a voice called from down the table. It was Justin Finch-Fletchley. "We've got six down here."

"Why don't you come down here and join these three," Harry nodded at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Justin bounded up without hesitation and walked quickly to a spot next to Ron. "Any other problems?" Harry asked, looking back down the table, counting each group as he went.

"We're good here, Harry," said Lee, nodding to Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia.

"And here," said Cho. More shouts of affirmation resounded around the table and Harry took it to mean everyone had a place.

"Excellent," said Harry, clasping his hands together. "Now what we're going to do for the next four hours is not difficult at all, but it will take much concentration and cooperation." Without even asking for it, he knew that he had, undoubtedly, every single person's rapt attention. He stepped down from his chair, feeling suddenly foolish to have stood up there in the first place, set his goblet and fork back on the table, and proceeded to walk back and forth in front of the fire. "To be very honest, I don't have the slightest idea of how we should go about this, but I do know that we have to cover a large area in a short span of time. We don't know what we're going up against and, when it comes right down to it, we don't know how we can possibly defeat the dark lord himself."

"Tell them about the Order," Hermione hissed over her shoulder.

"Right," Harry straightened up and stopped pacing. "We received word yesterday that the Order is patrolling Hogsmeade and the castle gates," he said, to a wide number of faces revealing relief and gratitude. "We will not be alone, but until the bridges of Hogswarts are breached, we don't have any way to know what suggestions they have for us. Until then, we need to have a backup plan, we need to be prepared to fight and to defend the students who do not know we are preparing to fight!"

Loud applause broke out, whoops echoed, and fists pumped in the air.

"Now, I am open to suggestions," Harry said, looking around and waiting for everyone to catch on.

"Do you reckon the common rooms will be safe?" Ron asked, obviously remembering what Hermione had said earlier about Kristopher being able to know everything about each one because of his supporters from each house.

"That I am unsure of," Harry turned to Fred and George, "is there any other way to get into the Gryffindor common room other than the portrait hole?"

Fred and George looked at each other, almost sadly, "No, mate. We've never been able to find it. Besides, I bet Padfoot knew more about the castle than we do, and even he had to attack the Fat Lady in order to get it two years ago." Cho whispered something to Luna, who responded with something that looked to Harry like 'Black.' Cho gasped, but didn't ask anything else.

"As for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?" Harry asked, his eyes shifting around to the other members from different houses.

And the conversation continued as every single member gave shreds of information about the castle. The Ravenclaw's about their tower and what they knew about Marietta and her two accomplices; the Hufflepuff's similarly, though with Greg Stebbins and his accomplices; and Fred, George, and Lee told everything they could about the secret passageways in and out of the castle.

As discussion progressed, everyone consented that it would be best for each group to focus on one part of the castle. Fred and George's group obviously took the secret passageways, and Susan Bones' group offered to flit between their common room and Gryffindor's, as they were closest, and to alert the teachers. Slowly, very slowly, each portion of Hogwarts was divided up and sections were left to themselves because they knew that if every group was given too much to do, the task ahead of them would be nearly impossible. The Slytherins, everyone decided, unanimously, would be left to defend themselves. Only Harry and Ron knew where the common room was, and even though there was a horrible feeling in the pit of Harry's stomach knowing that this was an act that Dumbledore would not agree with, the menace he felt towards Draco Malfoy could not allow him to include the house in their plans of securing the castle.

After two hours of a large group discussion, each group moved away from the table and huddled in little groups to critique their assignments. Scattering across the room, some groups went into the cubicles of bunk beds, others found pillows to sprawl out on; one group decided to talk standing up, acting out certain defensive spells and going through various sequences in corporeal form. Still others sat against the walls, or in chairs, and finally, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Justin remained at the table, looking still at Harry.

Reluctantly, after realizing he could not watch the other groups any longer, he turned to the four who thought he was a part of their group.

"We have the entrance hall," Ron said, as Harry turned to face them. "Entrance hall, great hall, and the immediate grounds." They'd decided in the large group that the Order coming in from the outer walls of the castle could take care of what they could not. Harry had intuitively gathered that Sirius, Lupin, Arthur, and Mad-Eye would undoubtedly realize that the grounds were inaccessible to the students, regardless of whatever battle plans they were unaware of.

"I think it would be best to stay in a group of two and a group of three," Hermione said, sitting up straight, "like Harry said, strength in numbers. But we can't have five people waddling around the entrance, it's much harder to be secretive that way."

In his pocket, Harry was running his hand through his invisibility cloak, feeling the soft fabric and mystic quality to it, wondering vaguely where Dumbledore was at that moment. Was he coming to help them fight? Then, an even deeper thought made his throat run dry. What would it look like if he had been completely wrong on the war beginning tonight? What if the ministry was trying to throw them off, or catch them off guard?

_Marietta and Greg have already assumed their posts!_ He reminded himself. _Unless they, too, were trying to throw them off_. Harry tried to think hard about who this Greg Stebbins bloke was. The picture of him in his minds eye was foggy, but he had a brief picture of a tall, thin, black haired kid, not unlike that of a young Sirius. But his image was so indistinguishable that he wasn't sure if that was simply his stereotype.

"Harry? Are you listening?" Ginny asked, watching him. He looked up, realizing he had zoned out.

Gingerly, he sat down next to her and looked from friend to friend, as though dreading in every way what he was about to say. "Listen," he said, his eyes finally landing on Ron, "I can't…I can't go with you." Every face contorted and was about to rage in provocations, but he held up his hand. "There are many things I can ask of you, many things I can suggest, but we know that, in the end, for some twisted reason, I will have to face Voldemort."

"Oh, great," Ron said, rolling his eyes, "just hand yourself over right away and everything will be just fine. He'll leave, right? That's what you said, isn't it?"

Harry glared at him and Ron, looking suddenly sheepish, knew he had said the wrong thing. "Of course not," Harry said, feeling kind of hurt. "I wish that my path was to follow you into battle, but I know that I need to find Dumbledore. Don't think for one moment, though, that I won't be cursing and jinxing everything in sight," he added defiantly.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, her tone desperate and scratchy. "You can't just run blindly through the school!"

Harry pulled out his cloak. "I will hide myself under this," he said, letting the fabric run through his fingers. His friends averted their gaze to the cloak. "If everything goes as planned, the death eaters won't know what has hit them. They know that we're meeting tonight, but they don't know what we've been planning."

The other four were silent, eyes drifting from each other's to Harry, and then to the cloak, no one wanting to say what they were thinking. Finally, Harry met Hermione's eyes, brown to green, much to his disinclination. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, but she gave him a brave, unnerving stare that told him she admired his nobility, but might end up hating him for it in any case.

\\//

Harry left Hermione to point out each of the trap doors placed, what they found, was all around the room. After a couple minutes searching, people began tugging on random bricks and portraits, finding more exits to various parts of the castle. No one was exactly sure how they wanted to utilize this phenomena, and Harry knew that once everyone left the room there was a very narrow and unlikely possibility of returning to this exact same space. But of course, Hermione was way ahead of him in explaining that.

At forty-five minutes to midnight, groups began leaving through various trap doors after they'd spoken to Harry, briefly informing him of significant details to their excursions, shaking his hand or embracing him, and wishing him luck.

Finally, it was only Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Justin left in the room. Thirty minutes remained until midnight, but they stood there in complete silence, even Justin sensed the extreme tension between the friends. The desire to trap his friends, his girlfriend, here and not fight toyed in Harry's mind, but he knew they would never stand for it.

Ron tugged on Ginny and Justin's sleeve and motioned them through the portrait hole they were to exit, learning that it would lead them out onto the second level, about one stretch of corridor away from the entrance hall. Justin led the way out, but Ron had to seem to force Ginny through, who was looking at Harry with deepest regret and Hermione with loathing. Ron nodded at Harry, gave him a look of love that only his best friend in the whole wide world could tell him with a single glance, then followed his sister through the hole.

Tearing his eyes away from the space where Ron had just disappeared, Harry turned to Hermione. She was looking at him very passionately, as though years had passed without seeing each other, as though their souls had found each other in a world of darkness. Closing the gap between them, she embraced him, flung her arms around his neck and gripped him tightly.

"Whatever happens…" she said, so softly Harry could not have heard if her mouth hadn't been centimeters from his ear, "I will not put down my wand until I'm dead. You are one of a kind, Harry. No one else…would put themselves…before us. You know that, right?"

Harry didn't respond. He was enchanted with the beat of her heart, and the way her hair felt in his fingers, the curve of her body against his, and the tickling pleasure that ran across his skin with her whisper. Would a kiss, just a simple kiss, make things better or worse? If this embrace lasted any longer, would it become harder to let go?

"If I die," he said, gulping back a sob he did foresee, "tell the Weasley's they can have everything in my Gringotts vault."

Hermione sobbed, choking back a crying laugh and hitting him on the chest. "Harry, please don't," she pleaded. "Please come with us, please don't seek Voldemort until the last moment!"

Once again, he did not respond. "The battle shouldn't last too long," he said, instead. "The war might continue until the end of all time, but the battle should be quick." He glanced at his watch. "You'd better go now. Twenty minutes…until midnight."

In one swift motion, she grabbed his chin and pulled it down so his lip fell on hers. She opened hers and kissed him as she'd never kissed him before, as though trying to say everything in this kiss that she could not in simply words. He felt his hands grasp her waist and bring her in closer, moving his fingers beneath her shirt to feel her skin, remembering the succession of the last week of nights spent wrapped in each other's arms, in his bed, just being together.

Then, as quickly as it begun, it ended, and she hurled herself out of the room, through the portrait hole. Almost at once, before he had a moment to recover from the kiss of his life, a large silver dog bounded into the room and skidded to a halt in front of him. Completely startled, he watched it, curiously, all else wiped from his mind.

With the voice of Sirius, it spoke. "Voldemort raided the ministry. He is coming for you. The Order is here to defend Hogwarts." And, when the voice stopped, the silver dog evaporated.

"Was that a patronus?" Harry asked, aloud. Of course, only the low echo of his own voice resounded against the now empty room. He glanced around as though to watch the echo bounce from wall to wall, taking in everything he could about the room. It was fifteen minutes until midnight. That wasn't nearly enough time to think, but unable to chose whether to sit or pace in order to rack his brains best, he stood in the middle of the room, where he'd been standing when what had to be a message from Sirius erupted right in front of him.

The Order was here. That was certainly a weight off his shoulders. But Voldemort raided the ministry? What did that mean? He thought back to last summer in Grimauld Place when Sirius had finally informed him of Voldemort's intentions. _He's after something he didn't have last time, like, a weapon_, Harry recalled. Wizards obviously didn't mean weapons in the way Muggles did, the large tanks and guns they used when they went to war were weapons of a different magnitude. But Wizards could mean any number of things when they said 'weapon'. A weapon could be a person, or, information, something that they had or knew that the opposing side did not.

But what kind of weapon could Voldemort hope to attain from the ministry? Something that he himself felt that he needed to go and personally retrieve? Something so important he revealed himself to the entire ministry of magic. _Well, considering Brookgard was already wrapped around his finger_, Harry thought glumly. Then a brief image came to him, a dark man kneeling next to Voldemort, receiving orders. That was Brookgard! That dream he'd had when Ginny had woken him, the other man had been Brookgard. Did that information help him at all?

He passed on it, knowing it was useless to pursue a train of thought that was already so lost to the onset of darkness. That was the first dream he could recall having that broke his streak of effective occlumency. What good was occlumency to him, in any case? What purpose did it serve? Dumbledore said to study the book and take it seriously, but he hadn't told him why. When his occlumency was effective, his scar didn't hurt, nor did he have strange dreams; on the other hand, it allowed him to see what Voldemort was doing, it had saved Mr. Weasley, and had warned him countless times that danger was approaching, however vague it seemed to anyone else.

The reality he forced himself to consider was if he had a choice to look inside Voldemort, or if it was happening beyond his control. It certainly wasn't something he would have chosen, if given the choice, but it had obviously already happened, making the choice negligible and a decision imperative. The other reality he forced himself to face was if he was able to see inside Voldemort, was Voldemort able to see through him? Was he a portal to inside Hogwarts? Surely he would notice if someone was tapping into his brain, but he didn't seem to think Voldemort knew he, Harry, was in his.

Occlumency was not going to save him, Harry knew that. This link between he and Vodemort's mind was significant, but he did not know how. He needed Dumbledore, he needed his godfather, to tell him anything that might help him decide what his action should be tonight.

Ultimately, Harry knew that the time would come to stand in front of Voldemort and protect those he loved. If he was able to defend himself, there might be a chance, the slightest of all chances, that he could stop the dark lord and, in the process, save those he loved. Survival was not a goal, protection was. If his death were imminent, he would welcome it if it was aligned with the end of Lord Voldemort.

The beat of his own heart seemed to wake up from his thought-driven stupor. His knees gave in and Harry almost crumpled to the floor, but caught himself and straightened up. Two minutes to midnight. Two minutes. Two minutes wasn't even the length of a decent kiss, or enough time to savor every splendid thing about life. Two minutes was the amount of time Dudley spent stuffing his face between television programs. It was a joke to actually be given an amount that small.

Without thinking, Harry removed his long robes and sweater, the harder to move in, but left on his t-shirt and jeans. From his pocket he took out his invisibility cloak and draped it over himself, then walked to the trap door on the far side of the bunk bed cubicles. It was a shame Hermione's needs were not going to need to be met, this room would have been one hell of a place to hide out. He only glanced at it briefly, though, before descending the rope ladder into the hallway below.


	23. Chapter 23

When Harry's feet hit the floor he could immediately tell that the battle had already begun. Loud war cries echoed from somewhere far away, perhaps outside, perhaps in another section of the school. He barely had a moment to check that his feet were concealed by the cloak before two students, DA members, and Professor McGonagall hurried past him.

He threw himself against a wall and heard the professor say, "Dumbledore's Army, you say?" He smiled to himself, a tight, grim pride spread through him. Though he remembered that when they decided on the name, Dumbledore's Army, Dumbledore was mockingly suspected by Fudge to have been training students to come to his aid. Now Dumbledore was in hiding instead of defending his school.

Picking himself up and clutching his wand, Harry bolted down the corridor, the direction from whence the small group had just come. There were several facts racing through his mind, and the one he couldn't get past was the memory of the second time he'd met Voldemort, the time when he'd taken up home in the back of Professor Quirrell's head. When he'd been in the hospital wing, Harry asked Dumbledore why Voldemort tried to kill him when he was a baby, but Dumbledore had either not known or was unwilling to divulge that information.

The more he thought about that memory, the more it aggravated him. If Dumbledore knew something about his past that he aught to know about before hurling himself towards death, he would certainly like to know. Why was it that Voldemort felt threatened by the baby Harry Potter? For the simple reason that Voldemort continued to pursue him after he'd regained a body, treating Harry as some sort of personal threat, Harry knew that this war would not end without a face to face.

Coming to the end of one hallway, he took a left and hurdled down that one, almost running into a suit of Armor that was patrolling the corridor. By the way it reacted to the noise of Harry's footsteps he assumed that it had been enchanted to assist protection of the castle. He hoped the group of DA members who were to alert the teachers had made it before the battle had actually started. In so many ways this war seemed foolish, like a hasty answer to a very hard question; but without Dumbledore, any other options were hit and miss. He wished that he had Ron's skepticism and Hermione's brains to convene with his, he always seemed to think better and faster when he had them. But since he didn't know what he should be doing in the first place.

As he approached the front of the castle, where Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Justin were undoubtedly fighting, he could hear the screams and wails of victims alongside the cackling laughter of attackers. He could see bright flashes of green and red exploding on the walls in front of him and when he rounded the corner, it was immediately apparent why.

The entrance hall was filled with people shooting curses and hexes at one another. His friends and many members of the Order were taking on several hooded death eaters. He saw Lupin and Tonks battling Bellatrix Lestrange, whom Harry recognized from the wanted posters, and a man who had to be Crabbe's father. Next to them, Ginny was dodging, while aiming a few of her own, Draco Malfoy; Ron was face to face with another hooded death eater Harry couldn't recognize; and Justin was dueling a boy Harry did not recognize, but was certain was from Justin's own house. With a sharp twinge of pain, Harry looked around for Hermione, wondering where the hell she could be when everyone else was fighting here in the entrance hall.

Before he could look around, another searing gasp of pain overtook him and his hand flew up to clutch his forehead where his menacing scar ached from the burning fury of Lord Voldemort. Without seeing what the dark lord was actually doing, Harry felt a surge of anger completely unrelated to his current predicament. He felt, as he was sure Voldemort did, infuriated that there were people waiting here to battle him. He was sure that he would be able to arrive and seize the boy with little trouble, reveal the prophecy, and then take another shot at killing him.

With an enormous effort, employing every little detail he'd ever read about occlumency, he pulled himself from Voldemort's mind and the noise of the entrance hall returned in a full revolt against his senses. His hand went from clutching his scar to clutching his ears, before regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes he saw something he reckoned no one else had. A large dog came bounding in through the doors, knocking over two death eaters; one mask fell off of the taller one and Harry recognized Antonin Dolohov, another man from the wanted posters.

The dog, which Harry knew to be Sirius, transformed before his eyes and shot a quick red jet of light at Dolohov and the man lay still in his sprawled position. The other death eater lunged towards Sirius, showering him in green jets of light, but Sirius ducked and rolled away, once again turning into the dog and hurdling himself from the room. Harry followed him, instinctively, as the death eater was momentarily confused by Sirius' disappearance.

Up one flight of stairs, Harry caught up with the dog that had transformed back into Sirius, and found him speaking in a low tone to someone in the shadow.

"…unsure of his plan," the voice, which was soft and scared, said.

"But he's definitely in the castle?" Sirius asked.

"He was fifteen minutes ago," the voice replied. Harry approached them and saw the voice to belong to Hermione. The pain in his stomach released. "I'm sorry Sirius, I must go back."

"But this is foolish!" Sirius said, harshly. "How could he have expected you all to fight off this amount of death eaters?"

"Sirius!" Hermione said, her face looking grotesquely pale. "Dumbledore is gone! Besides, we weren't just going to let Voldemort rage in and snatch up Harry. Someone has to do something!"

Harry pulled off the cloak and Hermione gasped. Sirius spun around and Harry got a good look at a scruffy, unshaven face before his two hands grabbed Harry's shirt and shoved him into the shadows next to Hermione.

"You are very brave, fighting in this battle," Sirius said in a hushed tone, "and very like your father. But there is little we can do! Hermione tells me you have thirty some students fighting around the castle? If that is so, it will be almost impossible to get everyone out alive!"

"Everyone knows the risk they are facing," Hermione said quickly, before Harry could respond. "We know the chances of survival—"

"Do you?" Sirius' voice cracked, and a flash of the hollow scars of Azkaban's fury raced in front of his eyes. "Voldemort is here, you two. He has come to collect Harry, we are sure of it."

"Where is Dumbledore?" Harry asked, ignoring Sirius' comment.

Sirius looked blank. "Hasn't he found you yet?"

"I've only just come from the room of requirement," Harry said, feeling Hermione's arm tremble violently against his. "I've been under the invisibility cloak."

"No doubt he's caught in a duel," said Sirius, more to himself than to either Harry or Hermione. "Listen, Harry," Sirius grasped Harry's shoulders with his hands and stared directly into his eyes. "This battle we are fighting is for no nobler a cause than defending ourselves. Stunning and jinxing can only go so far against a people who want blood." Harry thought he knew where Sirius was going with this, something that he had not ever covered any DA meeting. "If we don't kill them, they will kill us.'

Harry swallowed hard, understanding the truth of the matter but not liking it one bit. He threw a furtive glance at Hermione, then looked back at his godfather. "Sirius, what should I do?"

A loud bang resounded behind them and a portion of the wall flew out, spreading shards of wood and glass towards Hermione, Harry, and Sirius. Harry covered Hermione's body with his and felt something sharp pierce his back. He screamed in pain, but kept Hermione's body covered. The pain was so immense that he felt his breaths shorten as he gasped for air. The muscles around the shard of whatever it was protruding from his back tightened and seemed to feel every inch of the invading debris.

"Harry? Harry! What's wrong, what is it?" Hermione asked, over the noise of Sirius' roar as he leapt to his feet to assist Mad-Eye Moody in his duel against Fabian Brookgard himself.

Both he and Hermione had toppled to the ground at the blast, and as Harry was on his knees and finding it very difficult to move his legs because of what he supposed was a shard of glass in his back, had the entirety of his body weight on Hermione. With a bit of struggling, and very little help from Harry, Hermione managed to wriggle free.

"Oh my god!" she nearly screamed. Blood was oozing out of Harry's t-shirt, his back was already drenched with the thick red substance, and the piece of glass glistened against the spells flying from the wands only feed from them. "What do I do? What do I do?" she was panicking.

Harry's eyes were becoming heavy, the blood he was losing was making his head hurt and all thought drain from his mind. He only vaguely acknowledged Hermione's panicked sobs over his head. But, then, he heard another voice, and saw a robed knee bend before his eyes. He couldn't tell who it was because his eyes were too fuzzy, but when she spoke he knew her voice.

"What happened to him, Ms. Granger?" asked Professor Sprout.

Through her sobs, Hermione was able to say, "The wall…blew apart…look!" Harry assumed she was pointing to the shard of glass in his back because he heard Professor Sprout gasp.

"Alright, I can fix this," she said, a very determined and authoritative tone take over her previously casual one. "Unfortunately, he was not injured by magic, so we are going to have to remove the glass by hand. I know the spell to heal a wound, but that does not mean it won't break open again." She shifted her position and Harry lost sight of her knee, but his mind was going progressively blank and might soon lose consciousness.

"Just tell me what to do," said Hermione's shaky voice. Harry felt her place both her hands on his back around the immense pain. When he flinched, she quickly removed her hands and let out a low sob. "Harry, you need to lie still, this is probably going to hurt." Harry didn't respond, but tried to force all of his attention onto remaining perfectly still.

"When I tell you to, slowly remove the glass," Sprout said to Hermione, "and I will cast the spell. But immediately when we are done, we need to get him to the hospital wing."

"Surely the hospital wing isn't safe right now!" responded Hermione, exasperatedly. "It's only down this corridor!"

Professor Sprout gave a little grunt of agreement. "Well, then, we are going to need—" but the rest of her words were drowned out as Harry flitted in and out of consciousness. He heard whispers and the scuffle of feet, but he did not know what was going on.

Seconds, minutes, or for all he knew, hours later, he felt a soft hand on his cheek and a warm cloth dabbing at his forehead, then, all at once, the sounds of all horrible things reverberating around the castle. The battle had endured without him. The sharp pain in his back was gone, but a dry parch gripped his throat, almost giving the feeling of suffocation.

"Water…" he mumbled, without opening his eyes. Within seconds he felt the cold rim of a goblet touch his lips, tip his head back, and pour water into his mouth. He swished it around, swallowed, then went back for more. In the distance, he could still hear screams and cries, and beneath his shut eyelids he saw blazes of multicolor curses.

"How do you feel, Harry?" asked Hermione, taking the goblet away from his mouth. His eyes blinked open and he gazed up into her beautiful brown eyes. They were watery and red, but looked strong and fierce as she looked at him critically.

"A bit sore," Harry croaked. The water had helped, but his throat still felt unused. "How long was I out?" he sat up in place and rubbed his back where the shard of glass had penetrated his skin. It felt wet, but not like blood.

"Only a couple minutes," said Hermione, helping him to a sitting position. "Maybe ten, but really not that long." She noticed Harry rubbing his back. "Professor Sprout sent me for Essence of Dittany in the hospital wing, told me how to use it, then left. I was very worried I wasn't going to be able to do it correctly, but it sealed right up. I'm afraid your shirt is caked in blood, though. Here," she pointed her wand at his back and said, "Tergeo!"

"Did it help?" he asked, trying to look at his back.

"Mostly," she said, examining the shirt. "At least it won't look like you were rolling around in blood." She looked up, and he noticed how white she was. "I don't know how to thank you, Harry. That shard would have hit me…if you wouldn't have protected me."

He took her hand and made to stand up, using the wall for support. "I don't suppose you would pay me back by locking yourself in the room of requirement so as to ensure your safety?" he said, half joking, but with a strong edge of seriousness.

She made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh, but embraced him in any case. "A half an hour ago when I kissed you," she said, still embracing him, "I thought I might never get the chance to do that again." She leaned back and looked at him.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he said, breaking the hug, "I've lost a lot of blood and the last one nearly made me have a heart attack." She blushed, but looked radiant. He glanced down the hallway where Mad-Eye and Sirius had been dueling Brookgard, and Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Brookgard fled back towards the entrance hall," she said, leading him forward. "Sirius doesn't seem to be able to make up his mind if he wants to be man or animal, but it seems to be effective."

"We've missed so much of the battle already!" Harry exclaimed, feeling very foolish and, in the pit of his stomach, a very poor leader. "What do you say we drive these death eaters out of Hogwarts?" His invisibility cloak was still in his pocket, so he took it out and draped it over their heads.

Without another word, they raced down the stairs into the entrance hall where the number of bodies, dueling and motionless, had accumulated tantamount to the last time they'd been in there. Harry heard Hermione gasp, but at once they began firing hexes and curses at every death eater they could, without hitting one of their own. The death eaters were perplexed by the sudden onset of invisible curse throwers, and became scared, running into each other and aiming their own curses poorly.

While Harry and Hermione spat out curse after curse, they watched Lavender Brown take down Avery, who twitched violently on the floor for several seconds before going limp, Neville disarm a rather tall blonde man who was not wearing death eater robes, but appeared to be fighting for Voldemort, and Ron blast Draco away from his sister and Ginny, simultaneously, hit Ron's hooded death eater with a large red burst from her wand that sent him flying on top of Draco. Ron and Ginny turned to the nearest pack of attackers and hit them from behind; one fell straight backwards with a full body-bind curse and another sprouted boils all over his skin and dropped his wand.

Ginny picked it up, then used both his wand and her own and yelled, "Stupify!" The death eater's hood slipped off, revealing it to be Rodolphus Lestrange, and sent him flying backwards into a glass cabinet that shattered. Harry felt as though he could physically feel the glass enter the man's skin, and wondered, vaguely, if it had killed him.

Hermione was tugging on his arm as he had been watching Ginny, and led him over to where Tonks was still dueling Bellatrix. Bellatrix was very skilled and her curses were so well aimed it was all Tonks could do to get out of their range.

"Protego!" Hermione shouted, producing a shield charm right in front of Bellatrix, who looked momentarily stupefied before stumbling backwards. She looked around for the source of the charm when Lupin came out of nowhere and began dueling her more ferociously than Harry had ever seen him.

"Remus! No!" Tonks shouted, but Harry reckoned that only he and Hermione could have heard her above Bellatrix's mad laughter.

"You come to fight in honor of my dear niece, do you, werewolf?" Bellatrix laughed, a high pitched, non humorous laugh that could chill right down to the bones. But even with Remus shooting curse after curse, and dodging many himself, Bellatrix did not appear to be letting up. In fact, the notion of a challenging opponent seemed to excite her.

Suddenly, someone ran into Harry and Hermione from behind, knocking them to their knees. Neville landed on top of them, completely abashed as to why he was on the ground, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.

"Neville," Harry hissed, "it's me!"

"Blimey, Harry," Neville said, looking relieved, but also looking completely in the wrong direction to where Harry was. Harry didn't correct him. "Excuse me, but…"

CRASH! Right in the middle of the entrance hall, a large ceramic vase of unfathomable value smashed to the ground, sending little pieces in every direction. From above, Peeve's cackle could be heard, though the little poltergeist could not be seen. Another vase, similar to the first, crashed close to Bellatrix and Lupin, but neither had hesitated a moment in their duel.

In front of him, Harry saw a gleam in Neville's eye as he stood without another word to Harry, and raced over next to Lupin where, in one mighty and powerful scream, sent two successive jets of glistening red light straight at Bellatrix. Her arms flew backward and her wand spiraled out of her hand.

For a moment, just for the slightest second, Bellatrix looked at Neville, recognition overtaking her evil, twisted face. Then her eyes rolled back and she collapsed on the ground. Spinning around, Lupin stared at Neville, then his eyes widened.

Neville still had his wand pointed directly at Bellatrix, a deep, righteous anger flaring behind his eyes, which were narrowed with anticipation. "That was for my parents," he shouted, chest heaving in the wake of what he'd just done.

"I reckon she got off a bit easier than your parents, son," Lupin said, grasping Neville's shoulder with his hand. His tone was even, but something of a smile crept to the corners of his mouth.

Then, to everyone's ultimate surprise, completely out of nowhere, Tonks brushed passed Neville, grabbed Lupin around the neck, and began kissing him. Lupin, who looked momentarily dumbstruck, responded with enthusiasm and wrapped his arms around her, completely oblivious to the surrounding chaos.

Under the cloak, Harry and Hermione looked at each other, glancing only briefly at each other's lips, before looking back at the most unlikely couple Harry could have every imagined. Unfortunately, Harry, Hermione, and Neville weren't the only ones to have noticed. A tall, blonde man with a pointed face came running towards them, wand pointed directly at Lupin's back.

"Lupin!" Harry and Neville shouted. Harry raised his wand, but before a spell came to mind, a blue jet came hurdling from behind Lucius, who grew rigid and fell over. From behind, Sirius skidded to a stop at Lucius' feet.

His wand was pointed directly at Lucius' heart, a fierce, maddening sense of murder set inside those dark eyes of Sirius'. For some reason, however, Sirius did not curse the man. He did not let his wand fire the jet of light to suck the breath out of a man who would have returned the favor without blinking. Instead, he kicked Lucius hard in the stomach, then again, and walked to Lupin.

"Congratulations, friends, but really, this is not the time," Sirius said to Lupin and Tonks, glancing around as he did so. "Have either of you seen Harry?"

"I have," Neville said, emerging from behind Tonks. Even though he was so tall, he still managed to have gone unseen after he'd finished off Bellatrix. "He's under the cloak somewhere over there." He pointed a little to the right of where Harry and Hermione were.

Sirius ran in the direction Neville pointed, and Harry, wondering if he should get up and move, was saved the trouble of deciding by a scream that issued behind them. Whipping around, still on the ground, Harry and Hermione bumped into each other in the haste to discover what had happened.

About ten yards from them, Pavarti Patil was sobbing over the body of her sister, Padma, who was lying crooked on the ground, her wand feet from her hand. Her eyes stared without seeing, and the cries of Pavarti told them the truth. Harry shut his eyes, hardly bearing to be able to look at the twins. How many more had fallen, just like Padma? Who else was dead? The recent victories over Bellatrix, Draco, Avery, and Rodolphus had briefly excited Harry, thinking only of victory and not of loss. But the sight of Pavarti over the dead body of her sister gave him a strong urge to put a full body bind jinx on Hermione and stick her in the nearest closet.

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice cracking, "we've got to keep moving! We can still force them out of the castle." Still under the cloak, they got to their feet and resumed their barge of the entrance hall, a new stimulant of empathetic pain for Pavarti.

Hermione was sending blasting curses out of her wand left and right, almost too rapidly. Harry couldn't believe she knew where she was sending them until he realized they were following behind a death eater who was cornering Ginny. With one last blast, Hermione succeeded in bringing the death eater to the ground in front of an utterly bemused Ginny, who slashed her wand in the air and muttered something Harry could not hear. In another instant, the man lying on the floor had begun to wither and twitch. His hood came off and they saw someone they did not recognize, but that might have been after the hex had been laid on him for his face was so distorted from a withering hex that he was almost unidentifiable as a human.

Ginny hardly glanced down at him as she raced off to where, Harry noticed, Fred and George had just stormed in, both dueling hooded death eaters.

If it hadn't been for Hermione's persistent tug, Harry might have stayed and watched everyone else duel, and jump in when he could to save someone, for the battle in itself was fascinating. Tonks and Lupin were back to back, moving throughout the room offering assistant, while simultaneously closing off exit sections so that death eaters could not escape into the castle. As they moved, Harry saw many more people from the Order fighting, including Kingsley, Hestia Jones, one of the witches that helped him escape from the Dursley's all those months ago, and Bill and Arthur Weasley. Tiny Professor Flitwick, disguised purely by his lack of height, was shooting spells from his wand in rapid succession.

Alongside Hermione, he began sending hexes left and right, trying to hold the death eaters off from advancing further into the castle. It seemed to be holding them at bay, but it didn't seem to be forcing them out of the entrance hall. Fighting was all they could do, holding off the death eaters, protecting the castle, prolonging the inevitable. Harry wondered why he continued to fight when he could reveal himself and go to face Voldemort so that no one else could the same way as Padma, and perhaps many others.


	24. Chapter 24

The battle raged on like a surreal dream, one in which its victims are given the full power of their brains and full use of their limbs, but feel abstractly distant from the surrounding chaos. Hogwarts had certainly never seen a front of this magnitude in its lifetime, the amount of people in the entrance hall were tantamount to that of a carnival. After already an hour of fighting, everyone's wand hand felt ready to fall off, though no one would readily admit it nor would they cease its use.

Within fifteen minutes of the first cries of war, the whole of the castle had been made aware as to what was going on and small, scared bodies emerged from railings high above them, pointing and screaming in terror. Many of the older students rushed to help, still in their night clothes, but seeming not to care in the least. But the younger students had scurried away, and Harry had a vague memory of preparing himself to duel Draco in his first year, before he knew how to properly duel.

From what Harry could see of the surrounding castle structure, the inside had already sustained massive damage. Walls were blasted apart, every suit of armor was in pieces scattered across the ground, glass cases were broken, stairs were missing, doors were too large, and the floor was hot with the power of a hundred wands blazing in every direction.

Harry could feel the sweat pour down his back. The cloak, though very effective in disguising himself and Hermione, was beginning to become quite hot. He wondered if he'd be able to slip out of the cloak without Hermione noticing, allowing her to remain safe under its protection.

Before he could act on this thought, Hermione let out a scream of rage and tore herself from under the invisibility cloak. "Hermione!" Harry yelled, reaching for her arm, but she was too fast, she had already darted away from him. He yanked off the cloak and stuck it in his pocket, a draft of cooler air breezing over his face as he looked frantically in the direction Hermione had fled, but her path was masked by the dozens of duelers dodging each other.

"Potter!" someone yelled, a tone of triumph and menace dripping from the word. Harry spun around and saw Fabian Brookgard hurdling toward him. Harry pointed his wand at the man, who looked more like he was about to strangle Harry than kill him.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled. The wand flew out of Brookgard's hand and he skidded to a stop, snarling at Harry. The face looked all too familiar now, and not from the front of the Prophet, with his cocky belligerent face staring back at the wizarding community he was deceiving. No, the face was that of the big greasy man kneeling before Lord Voldemort, and next to Wormtail.

"Where is he?" Harry shouted at him. "Where's Voldemort?"

The sneer on Brookgard's face turned pungent, as though it were issuing from his every pore. "Waiting for you, of course," he said simply, still slowly approaching Harry. "I wouldn't worry about it. You will meet soon enough."

"Is this what you've been planning for the last month?" asked Harry, maintaining his ground. "An attack on Hogwarts?" He fought with himself to remember that dream he'd had all those weeks ago. "Since Voldemort's first in command had a little encounter with death, you had to resort to plan B?" A look of shock flickered across the black man's eyes, but was instantly dispelled with another sneer.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, now just feet from Harry, arms outstretched ready to strangle him. Harry searched for the right spell to cast on him, but one would just not come to mind. His mind was utterly blank.

From his left streamed a jet of red light which hit Brookgard straight in the gut. He gave a loud WHOOMF, and toppled sideways. Sirius came running to Harry's side and stood in front of him, as Brookgard writhed on the ground, clutching his head.

"You bastard," Sirius growled, then sent another jet of red that sent him skidding across the floor into the wall, where he remained motionless. Turning towards him, Harry saw a quell of anxiety fighting in his godfather's eyes. "Are you alright?" asked Sirius.

"I'm fine," Harry said, his eyes wide.

"Have you been under your cloak all this time?" asked Sirius.

"Yes!" Harry said, then, remembering suddenly why he had taken off the cloak, his face dropped and fear tore at his heart. "Hermione!" he spun around, feeling Sirius move beside him, and began to run in the opposite direction, ducking between duelers and dodging falling bodies.

"Harry, you've got to let her fight! This battle cannot consist of following people around!" Sirius said, though he did not seem to believe his own words. He, afterall, was following Harry around. Sirius had grabbed Harry's arm in an attempt to stop him, but Harry wrenched it free again.

"This war is about saving the people we love," said Harry, staring determinedly back into the taller man's eyes. "And until I have to go face to face with Voldemort, I will fight to do just that." Sirius looked grim, but nodded.

"Harry!" another unfamiliar voice shouted behind him, and as Sirius' eyes moved to a spot above his head he turned. A girl wearing Slytherin colors came racing towards him. She had streaked blonde hair that hung down to her shoulders, her eyes, under long black lashes, were a dark green. He raised his wand to defend himself, having more than enough experience with unfriendly Slytherins, but she raised a hand, and Harry realized that she looked frightened. Unlike the rest of the students who had joined in the fight once the first cries of war were heard, she was not wearing night clothes, but a black and green sweater and long black pants.

"Harry, finally!" she stopped in front of him, panting and wheezing slightly, gripping at a stitch in her side. "I've been looking for you for over an hour!" she took a deep breath, still gasping for air. "Before…before the battle started, I overheard Malfoy talking to that Alec boy…They were talking about how to capture your friend and your girlfriend."

Harry stared at her, completely stunned. "Who are you?" he asked, curiously.

She gave him a half smile. "Emma Gold," she said, not extending a hand. "I know it might be strange to be getting this information from a Slytherin, but believe me, I never wanted this. So much for doing some good in my house." She paused again, as though she could tell she was rambling. "I don't know how they're going to do it, but if you don't find them quick, Malfoy or Alec might already be dragging them to Lord Voldemort."

More than anything, Harry was shocked to hear the girl say the dark lord's name. And it was this, above anything else, that made him believe what she said, though he didn't quite know why.

"Did you hear anything else?" asked Harry eagerly, exchanging a look with Sirius, who still stood behind him. Sirius' face mirrored what Harry felt, a perplexed anxiety in a flush of red sweat.

"Only something about a meeting going on that had you distracted for the time being," she thought hard, "and that the dark lord wanted you brought to him alive, alongside your friends."

He shook his head in disbelief. The information wasn't all that helpful, considering Voldemort could be anywhere, but he was at least forewarned.

"Just to be clear," she said, pushing herself closer to Harry as two dueling men nearly backed into her, "your best friend is Ronald Weasley, is it not?" Harry nodded. "And your girlfriend…Hermione Granger?" He nodded again. "Alright, then, I've been keeping an eye on Ron since I knew for sure he was the one Alec was referring to, but I haven't been able to find your girlfriend."

"Where is Ron?" Harry asked, his eyes darting from her face to the two wizards dueling behind her.

She turned and pointed to where Ron was dueling a hooded death eater. "I am a fair dueler," she said, turning a little pink as she did so, "and I will continue to keep an eye on your friend if you wish it, but I thought you should know what I overheard. Besides, this isn't just about protecting the school anymore, Voldemort wants you for some reason, and it seems like he wants to capture your friends to lure you in."

"I don't know how to thank you," said Harry, still looking dumbstruck. His heart rate quickened as he felt a new and deeper desire to find Hermione.

"Well," said Emma, her cheeks blushing once again, "if we get out of this mess, you could introduce me to Ron, sometime." Harry blinked a couple times, then smiled and nodded as she turned to run back where Ron was dueling. A girl joined her within a second, a younger girl who bore a striking resemblance to Emma, and pointed somewhere off into the crowd. Harry's eyes followed where she was pointing and saw a woman with shoulder length blonde hair, a fierce energy about her, dueling Mad-Eye Moody.

A lump caught in Harry's throat as he realized the enormity of the situation. A Slytherin girl had just warned him of a threat against the lives of his friends, a girl whose mother was undoubtedly fighting for Lord Voldemort, whom Emma was obviously betraying. He turned to face Sirius, but Sirius had gone. He glanced around frantically, but saw him almost immediately. He had returned to fighting. A surge of pride swelled in Harry, but he watched his godfather for only a moment before he began to run around the room, looking high and low for Hermione. He didn't know who this Emma Gold was, though he was certain he'd seen her around, but for some reason a strange instinct deep inside of him insisted that he could trust her to look out for Ron.

As he sprinted throughout the room, casting defensive spells and stopping once or twice to defend himself, he saw the immensity of the tragedy around. Bodies lay strewn about, only a small fraction of which were still showing signs of movement, and many were being dragged into small grooves in the wall. He stomach lurched every time he saw a puddle of blood, or large gashes on the faces of the fighters.

But it seemed that the more he ran, the further he was from finding Hermione. She didn't appear to be anywhere, and fear seized him once again. Where was she?

Finally he spotted her, wedged into a crook in the wall, dragging in the barely squirming body of Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry ran to them and helped Hermione drag Justin in fully.

"What happened?" asked Harry, tucking Justin's legs in around his navel, so as better to conceal him.

"I don't know," Hermione said, looking pale and feeling for a pulse around Justin's neck. "We were dueling back to back and all of a sudden he lets out a large groan of pain and collapses. Then, here we are."

"Is it safe to just leave him here?" Harry asked, still staring at Justin, who appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

"We don't even know what's wrong with him," said Hermione, finally looking up at Harry. "But I'd feel horrible just leaving him here."

Just then, Madame Pomfrey came bustling up to them and knelt down next to Harry. "What happened to Mr. Fletchley?" she asked, looking from Harry to Hermione. "I've been trying to get around to as many injuries as possible."

"We don't know," Hermione said, sick with worry. Harry couldn't recall ever hearing Hermione say the phrase 'don't know' so many times in one sitting. It was unnerving.

"Alright, then," she said, whipping out her wand. Then she turned to Harry and said, "Potter, you must continue to fight! Let me worry about the wounded."

Harry nodded, then grabbed Hermione's hand and led her from the wall into the fighting crowd. "Stay close to me," he said. Looking fiercely into her eyes, he took the words from the bottom of his heart and every piece of joy he had felt over the past six months and said, "I love you." Then without thinking, leaned in and kissed her, wishing to feel one last time the feel of her lips on his. She kissed him back, and he felt a tear transfer from her cheek to his. He broke from her, gave her the swiftest of all glances, and headed towards the middle of the room, feeling her close at his heels.

The moment he reached the center of the hall, however, something went instantly wrong. His scar burst open and he nearly fell to the ground because the pain was so fierce. Someone had to have just laid the blade of a sword across the top of his skull. As he fell forward, he ran into someone's back, which thrust him backward onto Hermione, who, in turn, steadied him. The man whom he'd bumped into turned and helped Hermione keep him upright just as Harry felt his knees give out. With one hand clutching at his scar, he forced his eyes open, forced himself to move past the pain. What forces did he have to battle a mental mind game?

Then, with the magnitude of a thousand wands, a bright flash of light illuminated exactly in the center of the entrance hall where every dueler, death eater and Hogwartian alike, were thrust away from it. From the center of the light stood a tall, slight, pale white man who struck a magnificent air of terror. Screams immediately overtook the crowd, which separated itself into two groups, the death eaters behind Voldemort, the Order and Dumbledore's Army behind Harry, who was still supported by Hermione and the man who turned out to be Kingsley. The screams turned into silence with the flick of Voldemort's wand, and Harry struggled to free himself from the grasp of his supporters.

"Get back," Harry said, under his breath. Neither Kingsley nor Hermione moved, and Harry could feel their panic emanating off their bodies. "Get back!" he shouted, without looking at either of them. He heard them drag their feet behind him as they reluctantly shuffled backwards into the crowd.

A cold, mirthless laugh developed from the figure of Lord Voldemort, eerily abnormal, inhuman, and seemingly unable to come from the frame and look of him.

"Harry Potter," he said, in his low, slow hiss. "We meet again."

Harry straightened up, forcing himself to block out the pain in his forehead. Behind Voldemort, he noticed a man who, if he hadn't been permitted into the excursion of Kristopher Alec's mind, might not have noticed the adult version of the boy. The adult Kristopher looked haughty and had a broad, evil grin. His sallow eyes watched the scene in front of him hungrily.

"This time, however, I have brought more entertainment than the murder of another friend," said Voldemort, extending a hand as a malevolent curve overtook his lipless mouth. From nowhere a little glass bubble, swirling with strange, misty gray smoke, fell into Voldemort's outstretched hand.

"What is that?" Harry asked, his voice louder than he had expected.

Voldemort's face contorted into a nasty smile. "But do you not know of the prophecy?" he asked, making the glass bubble hover in midair. "Have you not ever questioned why I wanted to kill you fourteen years ago?" His voice cackled with mocking laughter, but Harry didn't say anything.

A second passed, and when Harry still did not respond, but held his wand more vigorously in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the strain, Voldemort let go of the glass bubble and it fell to the floor, shattering. Immediately, Harry knew that he had done this on purpose, for a ghost figurine of a wild looking woman formed before their very eyes. She was familiar to Harry, but when she began to speak, identifying her was unnecessary.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." The ghost of Professor Trelawney evaporated, leaving behind the ring of her last words.

Whispers broke out around them, and Lord Voldemort began pacing in front of him, not taking his eyes from Harry. Nearly a minute passed before he finally spoke.

"I thought it prudent that we share this moment together, Potter," he said, turning his wand over in his hand, twisting it between his fingers. "You have proven to be difficult to track down this evening, and for that I must give you credit. But this was a foolish battle, Harry Potter," the dark lord hissed, coming to a halt about fifty feet away from Harry. "You are fifteen years old! What powers could you possibly have that I do not? I! Lord Voldemort! I have sought the farthest stretches of magic since I was eleven. How can you be my equal, you pathetic little boy? How can you think to staunch the power of my imminent reign?" His voice rose decibels with each word, until Harry could no longer hear the whimpers behind him.

Had his heart not beat so soundly in his chest, and had his mind not immediately latched onto the words of the prophecy he'd just heard, his fear of death might have betrayed him. But the words began flying through his head. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

He didn't understand. How could he have the power to beat the dark lord? Was it definitely he, Harry Potter, that this prophecy was about, or did it refer to someone else? If only Dumbledore were here…was this what he'd refused to tell Harry in his first year?

From behind him, Sirius attempted to move forward, but a loud bang thrust him backward into the crowd behind them. Voldemort laughed as Harry spun around, watching Sirius being helped to his feet by Lupin. Sirius looked terrified, which seemed to reflect the feeling in Harry's own heart.

When Harry turned back to Voldemort, he had his wand out, and Harry suddenly realized the fear on Sirius' face was in regards to this. With all the courage in his heart, Harry stepped towards Voldemort, realizing now it was not his own life he was scared for, but that of everyone else's. For Ron, Hermione, and Sirius. His life was dispensable, as the prophecy had said, he was marked as Voldemort's equal. What power could he possibly have that the dark lord did not?

"How do you know I don't have power beyond yours?" asked Harry. His voice was calm, but firm and defiant, louder than he had expected.

"Because," Voldemort hissed, "it is impossible. Your dear mudblood mother was the one to save you fourteen years ago. But now! Now it is up to you to defend yourself and you have nothing, absolutely nothing on me, especially when your precious Dumbledore isn't by your side to defend you."

"So it is either by my hand that you die, or by yours that I?" Harry asked, more as a prompting subject than a question. "You've been attempting for fourteen years to, what was it, prevent my vanquish upon your rule? You've tried four times already! Doesn't that give you a clue to what appears to be a hopeless operation?"

Voldemort let out a high pitched roar, and Harry became silent, watching the tall figure begin to pace in front of him. "Luck and old magic!" Voldemort cried, his eyes piercing Harry, filling Harry's head with anger and rage that was not his own. "Luck runs out, Harry Potter, and old magic is, as they say, old. Therefore, what is from stopping me killing you this very moment?" And Voldemort raised his wand again and pointed it at Harry.

"I believe that would be me!" a voice rang from above them all and with a whoosh and a flash of blazing fire, Dumbledore fell from the ceiling like a leaf falling from a tree. He dropped softly in front of Harry, brandishing his own wand. "Hello, Tom."

Voldemort let out a hiss. "Dumbledore!" he cried, in a mixture of shock and anger. The red slits of his eyes closed even further until only a thin line remained. But before either man could say anything more, both began to duel at the same time.

In a sudden commotion of lights and sounds, the men circled one another, each sending their own curses and deflecting the other's spells. Voldemort's sleeves were thrust back in the heat of the duel and his bony arms were revealed underneath, both having the same fierce qualities as his face, lifeless and dead, but ever ready to fight.

The scene in itself was terrifying and spectacular all at once. Dumbledore's power was evident and scary, sending strokes of blazing silvery sparks in a variety of corporeal forms. He utilized the broken figurines of Hogwarts' statues and sent daggers of fire and glistening metal towards Voldemort.

Voldemort transfigured the fire and metal into wind and sent it gushing back all at once towards Dumbledore. Instead of the wind whipping him backwards, it seemed to engulf him, whirling in a cylindrical form around him, and finally turning to water, which flooded the floor from the tips of his toes out towards the death eaters. As Voldemort leapt into the air, and seemed to hover there on invisible steps, the death eaters were sent into a swirl of chaos. The water flooding continuously from Dumbledore's whirlwind hurled them out the door into the courtyard beyond. From behind him, Harry heard a roar and the crowd cheered. Voldemort, if possible, looked further infuriated as the whole of his army had been forced out of the hall.

"This is not the end, Dumbledore!" he cried, sending one last blast from his wand which, instead of inflicting any harm against Dumbledore, turned out the lights. In another blaze of brilliant but terrifying white light, Voldemort disappeared into the darkness.

It took only a second for the lights to come back on and Dumbledore was met as he hurdled forward by the crowd behind him, everyone racing out into the courtyard to force the death eaters from the grounds. Harry, who unconsciously raced behind Dumbledore, was joined by a sobbing Hermione and a fierce looking Ron, and he saw Fred and George to the left of Ron brandishing their own wands and yelling in mad fury. On Hermione's right he saw Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley racing ahead of students and they all spilled out into the cold night air. Death eaters were picking themselves up, drenched from the water Dumbledore had concocted and were either running, dueling, or being bound in their stead.

Fred and George sent stunning spells at a death eater called Rookwood, Angelina Johnson was getting the better of Narcissa Malfoy, whom Harry noticed looked beyond terrified. Alicia Spinet and Lee Jordan had just trampled over a man who was unmistakably Goyle's father, and Sirius was face to face with a death eater who had managed to keep his hood on.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kristopher. The tall, dark haired man was so unlike his teenage self. The adult Kristopher was wrinkled with the unflattering accumulation of age, his forehead was high and his eyes were deep and hollow. With a rage of fury, Harry abandoned the safety of the crowd and hurled after him, holding his wand straight out in front of him as he advanced on the aged man.

Kristopher saw him coming and stopped, another evil grin spreading across his face.

"Potter! How wonderful!" he whipped out his own wand, but Harry was too quick for him.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. Kristopher's wand flew from his hand and he dove for it, recognizing his mistake seconds too late. "Stop!" Harry yelled, watching the pitiable man writhe on the ground, feeling around for his wand.

"Are you going to kill me, Harry?" asked Kristopher, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Is the Boy Who Lived going to use an unforgivable curse?"

Harry clenched his jaw and stared right back into the deplorable eyes of a man who'd inflicted so much damage upon his home, upon the school where hundred of kids thought they were safe and protected from the wizard they feared most.

"How I would like too," Harry was able to say through a clenched jaw. "Incarcerous!" he shouted, and thick ropes burst from his wand, wrapping a struggling Kristopher within its holds. He knelt down next to the panicked eyes of his victim and leaned in close, so to be sure that he could hear what he was about to say over the noise echoing behind them. "Death is much more pleasant than the life you are about to suffer through," whispered Harry. "Death is not what you should fear, but a life with creatures that will slowly suck out your soul and force you to relive all of those bad memories." He tsked softly. "I'm sure you know the ones I'm referring to, Alec, or whatever your name is. You know, the ones I was privileged to when you attempted to break into my mind? How foolish that was." He stood up, devouring the look of fear etched across the man's face. "I'm sure you know that from this point forward Voldemort will be the most hunted wizard of all time and that anyone associated with him will be given the utmost punishment." He raised an eyebrow, then once again pointed his wand at Kristopher's head. "Stupify!"


	25. Chapter 25

Sleep was not likely to seek the survivors of the recent battle, nor was it likely to be sought, not with the grounds of Hogwarts silently mourning the deaths of the battle's many victims. The air itself seemed to cry in a hollow remembrance of the many who sacrificed themselves willingly to defend that which they hold dear. It was in the name of all things good that they fought, with the knowledge that evil shall be triumphed over whenever it is face to face with righteous rebellion.

Inside Hogwarts castle, there was a silence so complete that it made the walls shiver. Whispers could be heard, this was true, but all in all it was the overwhelming comprehension of the situation that left a silent, heavy burden upon the shoulders of each individual. Passersby would nod blankly at one another, a salute of survival, an acknowledgment of endurance, though none stopped. Everyone had a purpose, everyone was walking somewhere; either to kneel beside a casualty of war, or to tend to those still clinging to life.

Led by Madam Pomfrey, a group of adults cared for and tended to the injured and harshly cursed. Bottles of healing potions and Skele-gro lined a table outside the hospital wing, where the patients had spilled out into the corridors, resting on beds conjured from thin air by the assisting adults. Students, members of the Order, and staff members alike lay still beneath thin white sheets, still fighting of death's call and allowing potions to work their magic.

From the entrance hall, bodies of slain death eaters and Voldemort supporters were removed and set in the courtyard where Dumbledore himself took care of them. He allowed only Kingsley Shacklebolt to assist him, and no one could tell what they were doing. One by one, the bodies were lifted by two or three students and carried outside: Antonin Dolohov, Fabian Brookgard, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Goyle among the many.

But the line of bodies of students was by far the most breathtaking, heartwrenching, and horrible sight anyone had yet seen. The death toll was not enormous, but the sheer quantity of magical blood spilt of young, underage witches and wizards was enough to drive anyone to rip out their own heart so as not to feel pain any longer; to avoid the trauma of gazing upon those who had thrust themselves between freedom and danger, and had succumbed to the latter.

Pavarti Patil knelt beside her sister's lifeless body, her face pained with a loss so deep, comforting was tenuous. The bodies of Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein were surrounded by three or four Ravenclaws, including Cho, all appealing the bodies of their friends with defeat. The acknowledgment of death so fierce that none could staunch the steady bleeding of tears, and no one cared to hide their obvious pain.

Luna knelt beside Seamus Finnigan, who was sprawled in grief next to the body of his once best friend, Dean Thomas. The boy's shirt had been nearly ripped off during battle, leaving his bloody chest exposed to the world he'd already left. Joining Luna and Seasmus was Neville, who placed a hand on the former's back and stood behind her, lamenting the loss of their friend.

But of the Order of the Phoenix, only one death was already upon them. Molly Weasley, clothed in bright blue, lay with her arms clasped over her stomach as Arthur held her head in his hands, tears dropping onto her face. Ron stood next to his father, hands draped around his neck as he gazed somberly upon his mother's body, not bothering to wipe away tears of his own. Next to him, Ginny, Bill, Fred, and George all knelt in silent reverence to the inert body of their mother, silenced by grief, silenced by the tears of their father.

And as though to emphasize the grief of all inside the castle, the skies let go of their own tears and let the rain crash to the ground as low rumbles of thunder rippled overhead. The rain was a gift, a sign that life continued without those recently dead, though grief could not be quenched. The craving of an irreversible truth was that water is unable to satisfy the parched throat of a dead body.

Harry Potter stood away from the Weasleys, his favorite family in the whole world, watching them ache as one. The anguish on her children's faces was a pain unto itself, known only to Harry. He had his arms crossed and leaned on the wall next to an empty portrait, feeling grief and remorse swell inside him as he too reflected on the life of Molly Weasley, the first real mother figure he'd ever had. She'd defended him, fed him, loved him, and cared for him when he thought that it might perhaps be impossible to achieve such affection from a woman such as herself. It was an ache that he could not properly identify, and thus, could not come to terms with.

But just as he'd understood the sacrifice his own mother made, the fact that she'd protected him when Voldemort sought to relieve his future of a threatening opponent, Molly Weasley would be remembered as such. She was a sacrifice to the wizarding world, alongside the names of her fellow warriors who captured more death eaters in a span of three hours than the ministry had been able to reprimand over the course of Voldemort's last reign.

Harry turned his head and watched Lupin, Tonks, and Mad-Eye round up the last set of death eaters to transfer to Azkaban, which they had found out upon arriving with the first batch that the dementors had fled to rejoin Lord Voldemort. Harry had overheard Mad-Eye telling Tonks that new protections were placed on Azkaban and half of the aurors were recruited to keep guard while they thought up a new plan for the prison. Among those imprisoned were all three Malfoys, Draco barely clinging to life, Rodolphus Lestrange, whom Harry couldn't believe survived the massive attack he'd endured earlier, Kristopher, still bound in ropes, and countless others he did not know or could not properly identify.

His anger turned to Kristopher, who no longer was forced to suffer the imprisonment by dementors. He felt ashamed as the strong will of wishing unendurable pain onto the man strengthened with every second his eyes remained locked onto his sour-looking face. He averted his eyes, but with no relief as he was reminded again of the Weasley's pain, which made him want to remove his heart and put it in place of the one stopped beneath Molly's chest.

"Pain and loss are a part of life," a low voice said behind him. Sirius had approached, unbeknownst to Harry. "We lose the people we love, it's always a matter of when and where, which is why it is usually so difficult to cope with." Hermione had just joined the Weasley's, embracing Ginny, and letting her cry into her shoulder.

"Why does it happen to the best of all people?" Harry asked, his voice cracking from lack of use, but also from holding back a sob.

To Harry's surprise, Sirius laughed, but it was not his jubilant one. "Not to be trite, Harry, but it's all a matter of opinion." He shook his head to clarify. "Yes, Molly Weasley was among the best of all people, but the question should truly be why doesn't it happen to the best of all people? To the well organized mind, as Dumbledore likes to say, death is but the next great adventure. Molly died valiantly and doing what she did her whole life, taking care of her children. She died where no other mother has." He spread his arms and looked around the room. "Do you even see another mother in this room?"

Harry looked around and realized, painfully, that he was right. Molly was the only mother defending her children, she died in service to them, her last great act of love.

"Your mother, Harry, would have done absolutely anything for you," Sirius said, his voice returning to its low whisper, as though sending the message on a gust of wind. "And she did, she died to save you. If you are to understand anything this day, understand this: the love of a parent is never quite as clear until it's gone, and when it's gone, it becomes stronger than ever." He clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, then released him and walked away.

The battle was foolish, Harry knew it, Voldemort knew it, but it had seriously crippled Voldemort's forces and struck blows that could not be relinquished. The dark days of Lord Voldemort were coming to an end, regardless of how bloody the last battle would be. Eventually, soon, it would be over.

But pain would never be over. Mourning the dead was a life long act, one that those left behind faced daily, recognizing the absence of someone who should be there.

"Is that his mother?" someone else had crept up behind Harry. She had a small, soft voice and spoke with a ring of sorrow. Harry finally moved from his position, which he had not done even for Sirius. Emma Gold was standing behind him, looking worn and tired, her eyes red.

"Yes," said Harry, licking his lips to momentarily quench his thirst. Now that he had a moment to look closely at her, Harry realized Emma was at least two inches taller than him. She'd wrapped her hair back to keep it off her neck, which was small and decorated with a silver necklace. She had also taken off her sweater, under which she was wearing a light grey t-shirt, one side sprinkled with blood that seemed to be seeping from underneath.

"Emma," she said, to remind Harry of who she was.

"I remember," Harry nodded, extending his hand. She took it and shook it firmly, the small muscles in her forearm contracting as she did. "Why did you warn me about Kristopher and Draco?" he asked, the words spilling out. The whole conversation with her had been in the back of his mind for hours. "What is your story?"

She looked surprised. "Do I need a story?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I just mean, you're in Slytherin. Forgive me, but it's a bit uncharacteristic."

Emma smiled. "Dogmas cause men to revolt, Harry, even though they are set up to promote a state of welfare and peace. I find nothing peaceful about this situation, do you?"

Harry screwed up his face, confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

Now she laughed, soft and friendly-like. "For the longest time this school has been divided, each side fighting for a cause they deem most important: a wizarding community purged of the unworthy versus coexisting peacefully. I would much rather fight for the latter. I would much rather fight for peace than for constant war, which would be inevitable if Lord Voldemort takes over."

Harry's face softened again and, for the first time in hours, smiled. That was the purpose of their battle, the fight for peace.

She looked over at the Weasleys. "Your friends were very lucky to have a mother such as her, one that came to fight alongside them rather than against," she said softly, in a tone that might suggest she was about to cry, but her eyes remained dry, no tears left to shed. "My mother was a death eater. Can you imagine the disgrace I face if ever we get out of this mess? It's obvious to everyone but the dark lord that good overcomes evil in the end. When that time gets the better of us I will have to explain to my children who their grandmother was and that she died fighting against her own children."

The light behind her eyes vanished with the words of her mother, but her mouth remained curved in what appeared to be a self-pitying smile. With extreme curiosity, Harry watched the features of her face twitch, unwilling to yield tears for her mother. It was odd to hear her speak this way, odd to be talking with a girl he hardly knew and hear her spill this personal information with such honesty.

"What about your father?" Harry asked, immediately uncertain as to whether he should have asked this.

She shrugged. "Who knows," she said, purely uninterestedly. "Might be dead, we don't really know. He left my sister, Alice, and I with his mother a long time ago. We've lived with my grandmother since I was about…ten, I think."

"Your sister thinks the same way as you, does she?" asked Harry, feeling a sudden upsurge of sympathy for the girl. Emma, who had been caught up in the sudden movement by the line of student's bodies, looked back at him. She nodded. "Why haven't you spoken to me before, if you feel this way?"

"I might be in sympathy with you, Harry, but I'm not an idiot," she let out a low laugh, it made her appear somewhat proud. "I prefer to enjoy school. Can you imagine the ridicule I'd face if I'd revealed myself any sooner?" She gave him a smile that neither mocked nor scorned. "After watching your friends fight alongside you, however, I do wonder what life would have been like if I had just abandoned the 'laws of my house'," she used air quotes around the last phrase.

Harry shrugged. "It's never too late," he said.

"I turn seventeen in three months," she said, giving him a look of utter apprehension. "We should be developing friendships our whole lives, learning about relationships, but the girls and boys in my year only wish to get through school in order to serve Voldemort. It's too late for me mostly because it never could have began as long as I'm in Slytherin. Which is, fortunately, only one more year."

"That's a pretty sad way to look at things," said Harry with a frown. "How can you go through life thinking that way?"

Emma smirked. "Your life was predestined from the time you were a baby, according to the prophecy. Are you going to go through life now thinking you have another choice? Not to place our predicaments on the same level, Potter, but it is, as they say, the way things are." She shrugged. "That isn't to say I'm not going to try," and she cast a quick glance towards the Weasleys.

A moment of silence passed between them as Harry considered her, tilting his head to one side. "I'm sorry, about your mother, I mean," he said, "but your children will never have to feel ashamed of your mother when you fought for the very opposite cause. Bloodlines don't make family, you know. Mrs. Weasley was as close as a mother to me as I can get."

Another moment passed as they both stared blankly around, attempting to take in everything going on around them. Then Emma smiled again, taking a deep breath and looked back at Harry. "Well, Harry Potter, it was certainly an honor to meet you," she said. "And I'm sorry about your surrogate mother." He smiled back, warily, and watched her turn and walk away, towards the staircase, and disappear behind a doorway.

Talking with Emma had made him feel better. She had made him realize something that he might not have been able to otherwise, aside from Mrs. Weasley's sacrifice. He realized that for the people who really were sacrificing everything they had left, this war was the only thing they could trust in, hope for, as the wizarding community fought to hold on to the people they loved and a society that would, one day, coexist peacefully.

It was perhaps, this thought, that allowed him to finally move from his spot far away from the Weasleys, and pluck up to courage to mourn Molly Weasley's death with them, rather than as a bystander. He headed across the room, glancing down at the bodies lining the wall as he went, casting over them a look of deepest gratitude.

Harry stopped next to Ron, who looked up, tear streaked face and blotchy red eyes. At the same moment, they lifted their arms and embraced, Harry knowing that this boy was the closest thing he had to a brother, and the best friend he could have ever asked for. When they broke apart, Ron's arm draped around Harry's shoulders as together the looked back down upon Molly. He wanted to say something to Ron, to the Weasley's, but everything he thought of sounded blithe and rushed.

As he stood still next to Ron, feeling the heart beat of his best friend palpitate in hard crushing tones through his skin, Harry felt oddly distilled and quieted. Maybe he didn't need to say anything. Maybe it was better that all the things passing through everyone's minds remained unsaid.

On his other side, Hermione appeared, slipping herself under Harry's arm and grasping Ron's hand still draped over Harry. She laid her head on his shoulder and continued to watch the Weasley's silent pain. The strength of each family member was mesmerizing, kneeling or standing around Molly's body. Their eyes seemed entranced and unable to be torn away, watery and red though they were.

Suddenly there was a loud creak from the opening of a very large door and Harry, Ron, and Hermione all turned in surprise. From the doors of the entrance hall burst Percy and Charlie, both white with shock and terror, running at top speed towards their family members.

Fred and George looked taken aback by Percy's appearance, and the young man stumbled before the lifeless body of his mother. He choked, his eyes welling with tears, and fell to the floor beside Bill. Instinctively, Bill wrapped an arm around his brother's back as Percy had nearly curled up into a ball. All looked beseechingly at Charlie.

Charlie was hardly managing to keep himself together. He was drenched from the rain outside, as was Percy, and his muscles rippled underneath his overcoat.

"He came to Romania to get me," Charlie managed to say. "Apparated right into the post office, apparently. Word hadn't yet reached me, though I can't imagine how fast it could have. They were holding him hostage at the Ministry, but he managed to break free." His sentences were fragmented and disheveled, and after he said as much as he could, he too knelt next to Percy.

Harry looked at Ron, who had the appearance of being recently clubbed over the head with a Bludger. He removed his arm from around Harry and walked over to Percy and Charlie, wanting to be in their midst.

"I feel like I'm intruding," Hermione whispered, tears still falling down her rosy cheeks.

"I know what you mean," said Harry, wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist. "Do you want to walk?" She nodded, and he led her away, knowing their absence would go amiss.

Harry took her handThey headed out of the entrance hall and up the stairs, down the corridor Harry had been impaled with glass. Without thinking, he reached with his free hand to touch the spot the glass had pierced. Hermione noticed.

"How does it feel?" she asked, looking up at him.

Harry shook his head. "Fine, I don't feel a thing. I can't believe you were able to do that so painlessly."

She gave him a hollow laugh. "Believe me, it wasn't painless."

They walked in silence down the next couple corridors, slowly striding along and listening to the thunder that phased neither of them. Their dragging feet were masked by distant rumbles, and their shadows were interspersed with droplets of rain on surrounding windows.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence.

"You know," she said, coughing a little to hide her awkwardness, "you said something…something really serious…right before Voldemort appeared." Even though Harry could not see her, he could almost feel her blushing hard. Her heart beat quickened and he felt her arms shake nervously.

In the darkness, Harry smiled, remembering what she was referring to. "What? When I said I love you?" He stopped walking and she turned to face him.

"Ye-es," she said, smacking her lips with what could only be nerves. "I know it seemed like we were about to die, Harry, so I'll give you a chance to take it back."

He frowned, knowing that she was only being logical. "Do you want me to take it back?"

She kept her eyes locked inside of his. "No," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry smiled again, letting the emotion flood through him. He backed her up against the wall. "I love you, Hermione, and I don't want you to think that it was the heat of the moment that made me realize it," he said, leaning his mouth close to her ear. "I just knew that I might not ever get a chance to say it if I didn't say it right then." He could hear her breathing hard, slow jets of air sliding out of her mouth.

"I love you too, Harry," Hermione whispered back.

With one hand against the wall and one around her waist, Harry kissed her and felt her immediate response. The connection of their lips was deeper than it had ever been, deeper because it meant more than juvenile emotion. After a moment, he removed his hand from the wall and put it on her face, bringing it closer to his own, feeling her soft skin in his hand and reveling in the intensity of the kiss. He felt her hands move from his back to under his shirt and onto his stomach as they spread wide and gripped his skin, bringing his torso more closely to her own until not even a severing charm could separate them.


	26. Chapter 26

Harry sat in the chair across from Dumbledore, looking extremely tired and flummoxed. Sirius and Lupin stood behind Harry's chair, Sirius was pacing and Lupin was turning a handkerchief over in his hands. The office was quiet, besides the sound of shoes scuffling across the floor. Every portrait was awake, the men conversing held their rapt attention.

Thunder and lightning still raged outside Dumbledore's window. Bright flashes of light sent a flood of color across the room, only lit dimly by half a dozen candles sporadically placed around Dumbledore's desk. The storm did not phase Harry at all, the memory of the recently fought battle still dominated his head and he did not have space to consider the humiliating fear he had of something as simple as a thunderstorm.

"I never meant for you to have to hear the prophecy that way, Harry," said Dumbledore, watching Harry struggle to stay awake over his half moon glasses. Harry, who did look as though he could call asleep at any moment, did not feel that way. His mind was working so fast that he felt he could never sleep again. "I have been a very silly and irresponsible guardian," he added, more quietly still. "I am ashamed of the way I have had a domineering hand in your childhood, the ways I have kept the important facts away from you, and the true meaning behind your conquer of death."

Harry watched his headmaster get to his feet and turn his back to the other three men, instead facing the window out into the grounds where rain crashed against the surface of the black lake. Sirius stopped pacing.

"I don't understand, professor," Harry said, wishing the man to speak until there was nothing left to say. It was clear Dumbledore was sparing himself of a shame that ran much deeper than Harry knew, though he had a feeling he would find out soon.

"This prophecy Lord Voldemort revealed to you was conveyed to him once before by Severus Snape, when the words were first uttered by Cassandra Trelawney," Dumbledore said, without turning from the window. "You see, I was the one she prophesied to, those fifteen years ago, and it was therefore I who sent your parents into hiding." He turned, and Harry noticed his eyes sparkled with tears. "After Voldemort went into exile, Severus came to me fearing retribution for his actions now that his master had apparently fled, and I exchanged his freedom outside the castle for a position inside, under my protective eye. Hardly a punishment, seeing as how much Severus loved potion-making. But I was more concerned with what might happen to others rather than him, I was more concerned that he might go looking for his master and pursue the goals for which they had so long strived." He shut his eyes as another flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting his shadow upon Harry.

"Severus overheard the prophecy?" Lupin asked, after a moment of silence.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, opening his eyes and taking two strides to where he stopped next to his desk. "The prophecy. That has been the underlying theme of my decisions concerning you, Harry. Every choice I have made has reflected my own admonition of the dark lord's contrivance to fulfill the prophecy, or rather, ensure that the boy this prophecy mentions is unable to vanquish him."

"I can understand, though, why you wouldn't tell me this at the end of my first year," Harry said thoughtfully. "I was curious then, but there was so much I didn't know."

"That is very kind of you to say, Harry," Dumbledore smiled weakly, "but it isn't about knowing and not knowing. That is to say, it isn't about knowing more about those things we learn in due time, but about preparing ourselves to accept them as they come and fully understanding our place in this crazed world. However, whether you were ready to know at the age of eleven is neither here nor there, seeing as we are dealing with the present. But after I withheld that information from you while you lay in that hospital bed, Harry, it became easier to skirt around and keep you safe instead of revealing a truth that is too horrible to possibly imagine. No one wants to know they have a destiny."

"He's destined to die or to finish off Voldemort, then?" Sirius asked, his voice hoarse.

"In a manner of speaking," said Dumbledore evasively. "Not all prophecies are fulfilled. Some remain in the Hall of Prophecies for centuries and fizzle away with those mentioned inside of them. But it's those who fear the future who pay mind to these prophecies. Those who look for defiance or something to stand in their way, a measure of a challenge…those are the ones who fear the truth, as Lord Voldemort did." He walked back behind his desk and began to pace, Harry was momentarily distracted by the dozens of eyes moving back and forth as the portraits watched Dumbledore pace.

"Do you mean that it is only because Voldemort feared someone may come along to defeat him that he chose to act on the prophecy?" asked Harry, his eyes, too, watching Dumbledore's long strides.

"That is a great portion of it," Dumbledore admitted without breaking his stride. "But nevertheless irrelevant, as is looking back on the choices I've made about Harry. The knowledge of Lord Voldemort and, ultimately, what can and will bring him down will come in due time, but I must stress one very important thing tonight, and I trust you will bear with me." Lupin and Sirius nodded, standing side by side, and Harry sat up a little straighter in his chair. "You, my dear boy, are not destined to defeat Lord Voldemort because of this prophecy."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "But you just said—" he began, but Dumbledore held up a hand and Harry fell silent.

"You are not destined _because_ of this prophecy Harry. It is because of this prophecy that Voldemort sought to kill you fifteen years ago and because he tried to kill you, he transferred certain aspects of his own power into you, and it is because of your mother that you survived and now possess powers the dark lord knows not," said Dumbledore, inching his way closer to Harry with an air of not really recognizing what he was doing. "In Voldemort's haste to rid himself of competition, he overlooked something very important."

Over Harry's head, Sirius and Lupin exchanged the most fleeting of glances. "Do you mean to say," said Lupin, eyeing Dumbledore with great interest, "that Harry was protected that night because of Lily?"

Dumbledore, who had been looking extremely pitiful, gave Lupin and Sirius a broad smile, one that echoed a long-standing admiration of thought. "Precisely. The oldest magic, the most powerful, something Voldemort could never understand, which is most likely due to the fact that Tom Riddle never received it." He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "It is vital the way we raise our children. The unloved continue through life being unable to love others," he looked back upon Harry, beaming even wider than before, "but those who receive love in the most powerful ways not only know how to love, but make choices and react upon instinct based on love as well."

Harry watched his headmaster for a moment, considering what he'd just said. "I still don't think I get what you mean, sir," said Harry, scratching his elbow. "If I didn't know better, I would think you are saying that love is the power Voldemort doesn't have, but since that isn't a power—"

"That," said Dumbledore, speaking above Harry, "is where you are quite wrong, my boy. Love is, in fact, more powerful a weapon than any spell in your arsenal because it can neither be created nor destroyed by a wand. Shield charms can be broken and defensive magic reflected, but love conquers even the most powerful curse, as it did when your mother gave up her life for you. By protecting you from Voldemort when he entered your house fifteen years ago, she gave you a binding and lasting protection that Voldemort cannot defeat—though he will try—and she also gave you a reason to vanquish the dark lord."

Still confused, Harry tried to work it out by asking questions. "So you are telling me that the prophecy is only prophetic because Voldemort made it so? That because he tried to kill the son of parents who 'thrice defied him', he was facing magic he didn't know, which essentially means…love?" Dumbledore beamed even more widely, and nodded, encouraging Harry to continue. "It's not because of the prophecy that I must kill Voldemort, it's because he's made it so…" but now his voice trailed off, as he was once again thrust into a stream of unconnected thought.

"If I might…" Sirius said, accepting a nod from Dumbledore, then rounding Harry's chair to look at him. "If you hadn't heard this prophecy, Harry, what would you feel towards Voldemort?"

Harry looked at his godfather, his mind whirring, and had a feeling he was being spurred on instead of told exactly what he wanted to know. "I would feel the same way I do now, obviously, angry and wanting vengeance for me…for my parents, for anyone I ever loved that he's killed or is responsible for. For Ron's mother! For Dean Thomas, Padma Patil, and all those other students who died tonight. Not only because I feel responsible, but because he wants me so bad that I seem to have no other choice!" He felt irritated that he was being treated like a small child.

"Exactly!" Dumbledore said, standing up straighter to his magnificent height, towering over Sirius. "You do not want to bring down Voldemort because of the prophecy, Harry," Dumbledore's voice boomed, "you want vengeance because of what he's done and he's made it so that you will inevitably meet him in the end."

A ringing silence followed Dumbledore's words, the echo of his last reverberating through Harry's mind. _You will inevitably meet him in the end. _But Dumbledore was right, even without the prophecy, Harry knew that it would probably result in a face to face encounter with his arch foe, the dark wizard who wanted him dead from the age of one because of a pathetic prophecy.

"Do you understand now, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, his voice strangely soft after his loud, authoritative one. "Do you understand a poor old man's desire to keep you safe and shielded from a truth that comes no closer to putting you to sleep than sleeping on top of a hundred angry blast-ended skrewts?" A small smile escaped Harry's lips at Dumbledore's humor.

"I understand, professor," said Harry, giving his headmaster the bravest and most confident stare he could. "But there's so much I don't know…about everything."

Dumbledore laughed. "That will come in due time," he said, walking back around his desk to sit in his chair. "Next year will be one for the books, I am sure. Not only will Sirius be cleared by the ministry, making him a free man, but we will start our quest to help you achieve what you must."

Harry's eyes had followed Dumbledore back to his seat, but instantly flew back to look at Sirius so quickly he cricked his neck. "You're…you're being cleared?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

Sirius scoffed. "Of course I am, I haven't got a bloody dark mark, now, do I?" he laughed. "Besides, now that we are getting a new minister that will actually listen to Dumbledore, we will have a better order of things. I will be prepared to give a testimony in court, though," he added, turning to look at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore waved him off. "We must not bother with that now, there is much to much to do in several hours time. Students are out of bed and wandering everywhere, mourning the loss of their friends, or mother, and I must speak with the Order before everyone goes to bed." He heaved a deep sigh. "And now Harry, I know you are anxious to get some rest. You have done a magnificent job preparing your friends for what was truly a heroic event, one that will be told and retold for centuries to come. I applaud your bravery and wish you to get some rest before the sun rises. Do not worry," he said quickly, Harry was about to ask about lessons the next day, "I think we will take a little break from learning while we all attempt to cope with those we lost tonight."

Harry stood up, stretching the muscles in his calves that had suddenly fallen asleep. "Thank you, sir, for telling me all of this," said Harry, "and goodnight."

"Goodnight," Dumbledore said, giving Harry a small wave.

Sirius walked with Harry out of Dumbledore's office and led him a couple feet away from the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's study.

"Before you go to bed, I'd like to just say one thing," Sirius said, his gaze fierce and demanding. "You are so like your father, and I am so proud of you. Even with all the persecution you endured this year you didn't let it destroy who you are. In fact, it probably made you a stronger man." His face softened and a smile overtook his grim exterior. "Dumbledore agreed that after you spend a week with the Dursley's, you can come stay with me at my _new _place. Which I still have to look for. Security will be tightened ten-fold and you can make it your own. We will share it. I want to be a proper godfather to you, Harry, as I know your father wanted. I owe you for so much time."

Harry beamed. Through his tired eyes he felt something buzz, something like that of overly excited happiness that ironically made him tear up. Sirius opened his arms and enveloped him in a hug. Harry hugged him back.

"Thank you Sirius," Harry said, trying to conceal wiping his eyes by taking off his glasses and feigning to wipe away a smudge. "I look forward to it more than you can ever know."

Sirius let out a loud laugh. "Oh, I think I do know. Believe me. Living with a family that cherished the dark arts is just as bad, if not worse, than living with the muggliest muggles."


	27. Chapter 27

"Well, that's certainly a surprise," Ron scoffed, turning to face Harry and Hermione. They had all been listening to Dumbledore speak before they dug into their feast. "Who would have ever thought our OWL exams would be rescheduled? Eh? A massive attack on the school and we just go on as if it never happened?"

Harry chuckled. "It's not like the ministry is unfamiliar in pretending things don't happen right under their nose," he piled eggs onto his plate in vigor, feeling strangely famished. "They did a pretty bang up job of it for several months." He clenched his right hand and the light red, now scarring inscription of his punishment shone in the candlelight illuminating the great hall.

"Oh but this just makes me all the more anxious," Hermione said, staring almost disgustedly at Harry's massive pile of food, then similarily at Ron attempting to shove an entire piece of toast in his mouth. "I've been ready for ages and now I have to wait another month!"

"Nmpf ebyvne is uhz gohd as oo," Ron said through a mouthful of toast. Hermione gave him a repulsed look and he swallowed his food, painfully. "Not everyone is as good as you, Hermione. We don't all recover that quickly from a life altering tragedy."

Hermione looked pained by his statement. "Ron, you know that's not what I meant," she said, her voice dripping with hurt, "all I meant was that I wish I could get the exams over with!"

Ron looked sheepish, and a fleeting glance was enough of an apology for Hermione, who smiled back sympathetically. Ron's emotional roller coaster over the last two weeks had unhinged and he'd taken a general air of trepidation and any change in schedule that did not make his life easier was devastation upon itself. He had, at least, come to determine when he was acting such and that had proven to be good enough for Ron and Harry.

"Although I do not fancy taking exams a month into my summer holiday," said Harry, "I do think it is the wisest move the school can make at this point." He felt the color drain from his face as he suddenly thought of Dean, the only fifth year Gryffindor not to be taking his exam, not to be continuing on. Only Hermione seemed to notice the drain of color, and put a hand on his knee, patting it gently.

In the aftermath of the battle at Hogwarts, dealing with the deaths of their fellow students had been equivalent to that of Mrs. Weasley's. Throughout the first week, Ron had been nearly unmanageable because in his, Ginny's, and the twins' deep-rooted agony, they were not permitted to go home with their father and eldest brothers, who had insisted they finish out the year. Almost everyone had expected school to close for the year in the days after the battle, but upon Dumbledore reassuming the role as headmaster, a new hope burgeoned in everyone's heart and parents, though anxious for their children to come home, knew Hogwarts was much safer. Umbridge, on the contrary, was charged with conspiracy in association with the Ministry and, to everyone's delight, sentenced to five years in Azkaban.

The wizard prison had changed tenfold, meanwhile, and instead of Dementors guarding its watery gates, was turned into isolation chambers. Mad-Eye explained it as a much slower process of despair, in which prisoners lost their sanity within themselves, instead of having it sucked out of them. The closest comparison Harry could imagine was that of top security prisons the Muggle world used to hold terrorists and the elite criminals. He did, however, envision it much differently since one wall of the isolation chamber looked out upon the vastness of a constant hurricanical storm. A small, evil happiness would always swell inside Harry when he thought about Kristopher inside one of these cells, feelings which he unfortunately felt guilty and somewhat ashamed about.

The imminent fear of Lord Voldemort still loomed above them. Not knowing where he was or what he was doing seriously bothered Harry, a subconscious fear that let itself out at strange times, such as waking in a cold sweat after having no dreams whatsoever, or shivering violently when the sun beat so ferociously students tried to fry eggs on the courtyard. It was something he had only recently recognized and did not feel comfortable talking about, yet. He wanted to tell Hermione, but it seemed childish and immature, not to mention insensitive. While Ron mourned the loss of his mother, he, Harry, was worried about himself. It seemed to him very selfish, even if Ron and Hermione would say it was obvious that Harry should be troubled such.

At the moment, Voldemort's regime was severely disabled. Over half of his death eaters were in Azkaban while another ten or so were killed in the heat of the battle. The numbers were unclear in the first place because during the battle at Hogwarts, no one could really tell if there was a difference between the death eaters and the Ministry, or if the Ministry had just simply been overtaken by death eaters. Roger Stebbins, the newly appointed head of the Department of Magical Transportation, was imprisoned for assisting death eaters and Ministry officials, such as Fabian Brookgard, travel to Hogwarts by means of the Floo Network, conveniently unsupervised at the appropriate time. Brookgard himself was killed by Sirius, meaning that a the wizarding community once again needed a new Minister of Magic.

Rumors flew around for two or three days that Kingsley's name had been thrown into the pot, as he was a major asset to the team of aurors at the Ministry, and had always proven loyal. But in the end, Kingsley's boss, Rufus Scrimgeour, was made Minister, to a general welcome. The fact that he'd headed the auror office gave the wizarding community an air of safety and direction, knowing that something would be done in the effort of opposing and fighting Voldemort.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione agreed that the amount of changes made over the past two weeks gave them a headache. Thinking about the reality of what happened, attempting to comprehend the loss of their classmates and Ron's mother, was a surreal reality that they seemed to revolve around without really interacting. Harry had a feeling that once Ron returned to the Burrow, his grief would overcome him in a more realistic way. While at Hogwarts he wasn't able to understand life without his mother because classes resumed as they had before her death, and they ate meals in the great hall as they had before, and the slept in their warm, clean four poster beds as they had before. The Burrow's distinctive smell of freshly baked goods, chicken and ham pie, or stew would be different now, because Molly Weasley was always able to add more than food to her recipes.

Harry did not ever mention this out loud to Ron, he found no reason to make his anxiety worse. The days Ron was able to suppress his grief were the days Harry tried to make him appreciate the beauty of the Hogwarts grounds, not remind him of changes he needed to prepare for when school was finished for the year. It wasn't difficult to keep his mouth shut, but Harry felt guilty at times. He had things he wanted to say to Ron, the timing was just never right. It wasn't always timing, either, it was the fear that Ron didn't want to hear the things he had to say, especially out of him. Harry had begun to dwell in the fear that if he rambled on too long about preparing for a Molly-less Burrow, Ron would spin the tale on him and point out that it was Harry that had sent his mother to her death bed.

Deep down he knew that it wasn't true, that the battle had not been his fault. It had been inevitable, designed months ago by Voldemort. Harry had prepared his fellow classmates for the circumstance, he had warned them of the possibility of death and shown them how to defend themselves. Molly had been a very skilled witch and it was not by her lack of experience that took her life, but her passion for her children. The whole conversation was, however, one Harry was keen to avoid.

Every six degrees of thought brought Harry back to Voldemort. The lightning scar on his forehead hadn't burst with pain in the last two weeks, which he found quite odd considering Voldemort should be extremely angry. Neither did he have any night terrors, visions of long, dark corridors where he finally knew ended at the door to the Hall of Prophecies, the room in the Ministry Voldemort had broken into. Hermione had noticed this lack of dreams, too, as she had snuck into his bed at least ten of the last fourteen days.

"At least every other night," she had whispered one evening, very late into the night, "you would twitch and moan, muttering something or other about people I didn't know or things that you needed. It was frightening. But you haven't had one all week!"

Harry tried to make this thought comfort him, but it made him extremely uneasy. Had Voldemort recognized the connection somehow and was now using it against Harry, or was it preparing him for something even more dreadfully painful than the cleaving of shear agony coursing through every fiber of his body? If Voldemort didn't already know, Harry experiencing the dark lord at his most vicious moments was not unlike being under the cruciatus curse. This was also something he had not shared with his girlfriend.

A small twittering bird flew in front of Harry's eyes and shook him from his rambling train of thought. Hermione had opened up an Ancient Rune book, clearly oblivious to his sudden disappearance into the back of his mind, and Ron accepted the letter his annoying and desperately hopeless little owl Pigwideon carried.

"It's from Charlie," said Ron with great surprise. He ripped it open and read hastily to himself, his eyebrows rising further up his forehead as the seconds ticked by. "Oh my god! Listen to this: Dear Ron, How are you? Bill, dad, and I are getting along just fine, though things here at home are quite different and dad spends most of his free time reading all of the cooking books our mother used to use. Bill and I suffered through a very strange stew last night, but I must say he is getting better. I am writing because it just so happens that this summer we are receiving a new breed of dragons in Romania and need an extra hand for a month. I suggested you to my boss and he said that he would be willing to overlook the age rule if you would agree to come. They will pay you fifty galleons and you would start a week after you get home from Hogwarts, which means, of course, you would have to figure out how to take your rescheduled OWLs, until the second week in July. You can stay with me, if you wish, otherwise they have a housing plan for the extra hands we are bringing in. I think, if I am not mistaken, that Hagrid also volunteered for the job and would be coming a couple days after school ends. Please send me your answer as soon as possible, and if you are not interested do not worry, but I thought you may be interested in earning a little extra money over the summer. Your Brother, Charlie."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Charlie wants you to help import a new breed of dragons?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "With Hagrid? That's brilliant!" Ron's mouth twitched, trying to decide whether he was excited or nervous, or even a touch apprehension. "You don't think so?" asked Harry, watching Ron closely from across the table. Hermione had looked up from her book while Ron read his letter out loud, and was now looking from Harry to Ron.

Ron shrugged. "I just…I guess I thought Charlie was going to be home…for a while, you know," he said, taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest, "I thought we'd all be at home for a while, together, as a…family." He didn't look at Harry or Hermione, he stared at the letter, pretending to read it over again. As Ron had read the first part of the letter, about Mr. Weasley learning how to cook, it had given him an odd feeling in his heart, but he thought that Ron would be excited about an opportunity to avoid dealing with the absence of his mother.

"Charlie is your family," said Hermione, softly.

Ron looked up at her, a sparkle of a tear in his eye, but it did not drop. "I know," he said, a little sorrowfully, but his face brightened. "However, Hagrid is going and I could make fifty galleons. That would be nice, eh?"

Harry grinned back at him. "It would be," he said, though a small twinge of pain turned over in his stomach, knowing he wouldn't be able to see Ron for a month. But his concern was for Ron, not himself, and he knew that a month with his elder brother would do him good, give him a chance to grow up without his mother, and delay, perhaps even throw off, the moment when Ron would painfully realize what life was truly like without his mother.

Hermione clicked her tongue. "Dragons, though," she said, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "It sounds so dangerous."

Ron laughed. "Charlie's been doing it for years, look how well he's turned out!" Hermione grimaced and her cheeks flushed even deeper, which made Ron laugh harder.

Harry, noticing Hermione's flush, felt a jolt of strange jealousy course through his chest, and decided to change the subject. "You might have more time to study for OWLs, too," he said, after a moment of thought.

"Or less time," said Hermione, "depending on how they look at your case." She opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it quickly, evidently deciding against saying whatever it was she was thinking. Harry had an inkling about what it might be. The Ministry might look at Ron's case differently, as he was the only student to lose a parent in the battle. After considering it, Harry had absolutely no idea how the ministry would look at his case.

"What do you say, mate?" Harry asked, shoveling his last piece of bacon into his mouth.

Ron took another deep breath and seemed to hold it all in his head. "I say it would be bloody brilliant to spend that much time with Charlie and with dragons, and Hagrid," he smiled, broadly. "Blimey, I'm going to spend a month in Romania!" Harry let out a whoop, which caused a couple people around them to stir, including Fred and George, who cast them a funny look. "I'm going to go send my answer back to Charlie right now," Ron added, getting him from his seat. "I'll meet you back in the common room."

Harry and Hermione waved as he left. But Ron had barely reached the doors leading out of the great hall when Emma Gold intercepted him. A grin spread across Harry's face as he watched Emma shamelessly flirt with him, and Ron's stature change from a slightly hunched, and insecure, to tall and confident. As Emma had asked during the battle, Harry had introduced her to Ron, who was admittedly at first wary of associating with a Slytherin, but after they had spent some time with the girl found her to be quite good company. Where Harry was an inch or two shorter than Emma, Ron was a good head taller, and the difference between the streaked blonde versus red hair was invigorating.

"It is so strange," Hermione mumbled, watching Ron and Emma too, "how she seems to have liked him for a while, but it took the battle to make her act on it." She looked at Harry, watching his oddly twitching mouth contort into a variety of smiles while watching the two flirt. "Have you heard the rumors about Emma, though?"

Harry looked down at her, confused and uneasy. "No, what are you talking about?"

"They are only rumors, of course," said Hermione quickly, "but apparently she's pretty explorative, physically, that is, and her ex-boyfriends hint that she's rather…easy."

Harry, who had been taking a drink of pumpkin juice, spit out a good portion of what was in his mouth and it sputtered down his chin onto his shirt. Embarrassed, he grabbed a napkin and started wiping his face and shirt. This was certainly a topic that he and Hermione did not talk about much, and with the prospect of his best friend becoming interested in a girl that was, rumored, easy, was not something he was sure he could talk about with his girlfriend, regardless of her friendship with Ron.

"That also could just be boys being boys," Hermione went on, pressing her lips together and eyeing Harry with increasing interest. "I don't know what circulates through the boys about you and I, but I certainly hope—"

Harry held up his hands. "First off, my best mate is also yours, I am not about to discuss our relationship with him. Second, that's just plain mean. I would never say anything like that about an ex-girlfriend, regardless of what happened between us." He looked back at Emma and Ron, wondering if the rumor was true. If it was, would Ron care? If it wasn't, that was sure a cheap blow to lay on a girl with so much promise.

"Aside from the rumors," Hermione said, closing her textbook, "she's really intelligent. I think Eddie said she got ten OWLs—"

Once again, Harry cut her off, "Eddie?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Eddie Carmichael. Ravenclaw? The boy I confiscated that ridiculous Baruffio's Brain elixir from? He's an ex-boyfriend of hers." Harry chuckled, remembering the boisterous older student who tried to sell them a potion that would help them to pass all their OWLs with outstanding marks.

They stood up from the table together, nearly simultaneously, without even realizing they had done so. "Wait a moment," said Harry, a sudden memory coming to him, "is this the second year girl that Cadwallader bloke was seeing during his fifth year?"

"I believe so," said Hermione with a nod. "I also heard that."

"Not to slight Ron, or anything," said Harry, watching Emma return to the Slytherin table and sit next to her sister and another girl whom Harry did not know, then Ron practically skip out of the hall, "but what does a girl like her see in him? He's a great guy, but you've really got to get to know him to understand him." Hermione giggled. "What?" Harry asked defensively.

"It's just," said Hermione, taking his hand as they left the great hall, "you might be famous and everyone might think they know you so well, but you are the same way."

Harry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She smiled up at him, her brown eyes wide with love. "It's the getting to know someone part that makes people fall for each other. You see qualities in other people that you can predict will turn out to your liking, qualities that you value in a relationship and in a person of the opposite sex. It's not like we hooked up on the Hogwarts Express the first time I barged into yours and Ron's compartment, is it? Five years later and…here we are."

Harry felt his face grow hot, and looked away from her down the corridor they were heading. "You think way too much," he said, a soft tease that was nonetheless true, "I can't possibly compete with you. Pretty soon, The Boy Who Lived will be underminded by The Girl Who's Brains Are So Big."

Hermione gave him a small dig in the ribs and he contracted slightly, taking the blow. "Oh, ha ha," she said, dripping with sarcasm, though there was a touch of amusement in her voice. There was a long pause between them as they walked, both, without saying it aloud, taking the long way back to the common room.

They passed an overlarge marble statue of a raven, watching it as though watching the past, both remembering the first week they'd begun their relationship and sneaking behind statues and in crooks in the wall to steal kisses. It was like watching a different lifetime.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," said Hermione, finally breaking the silence, "and since Ron has plans for the summer, it might be more likely you'd say yes."

"What is it?" Harry asked, letting go of her hand and slipping his arm around her waist.

"Well, I wrote to my parents a couple days after the battle to ask their permission first, and they said it is alright if you get permission from the Dursley's, or Dumbledore, I guess I don't really know—"

"Oh get to the point," he said, his heart beating faster.

"Would you like to come stay at my house for a couple weeks?" she asked quickly. "I don't think I could stand an entire summer away from you, and I know you're moving in with Sirius. Plus, my parents are dying to meet you."

Harry felt taken aback, not exactly expecting her to say that, but thoroughly pleased. "You want me to come stay at your house?" he asked, astonished.

"Yes," she said, catching her breath.

"I think that would be brilliant," said Harry, beaming down at her.


End file.
